


all that remains

by whimperinglou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drug Use (they get high a couple of times), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Vague mentioning of an eating disorder, also they cry a LOT, basically everything that has happened the last seven years or so but in a fanfic, don't worry though it has a happy ending, see authors note for disclaimers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimperinglou/pseuds/whimperinglou
Summary: “Did you write it about me?” Louis asks, when the tones of the last song fade, his voice so low Harry barely hears it.“Yeah… or like…” he turns to his side and their eyes meet. Louis’ eyes are a little red and his neck is flushed. Harry himself feels exposed when he looks at him. “About us, I guess,” he says finally.Louis nods, chewing on his lip. Even though he is obviously affected by the songs, Harry still has a hard time reading him.“I like the idea of our story being told through songs,” Louis says, and Harry’s heartbeats speed up. “It’s quite fitting.”Or, Harry has always written too many songs about him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Camille Rowe (for like 1.5 chapters), Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 95
Kudos: 316





	1. two ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> _How to read this fanfiction:_  
>  This story is basically a really long song analysis. The chapters are named after Harry’s songs, and are written with the idea that the scenes inspired the song.  
> The _whole point_ of this fic is to experience it alongside the music. It’s written chronically, and sometimes we’re making big jumps through time. Every chapter/song can, for that reason, stand on its own. Therefore, I highly suggest that after reading each chapter, pause and listen to the songs! It gives an extra touch of heartache ;) 
> 
> IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER  
> This is a love story between Louis and Harry written very close to canon. This does not mean that any of what I have written is real, because it’s not. It is fan _fiction_ and should be understood as such. I don’t mean to be disrespectful towards Louis, Harry or anyone else close to them. I certainly don’t know what happened, this is all made up in my head, but I can daydream, right?  
> Do not repost this or send it to any of the boys or their families. This is for the fans. This is a private work of fiction. Please respect that.
> 
> Lastly, but most importantly:  
> This project was a mess before it found Tati. Without you, this would never have worked out.  
> I owe you so much and I'm so thankful you became my friend.

**PART ONE**

**_TWO GHOSTS_ **

_December 2013, London_

Harry meets up with him at Heathrow, he’s just landed in London after being in LA for a week, and Louis arrives with the plane from New York an hour later. He’s in one of the VIP-rooms with his security guard when Louis walks through the door, in sweatpants, his usual white t-shirt and a snapback covering most of his hair. He looks tired and jet lagged, just as Harry does himself. But that’s how both of them have looked for the past half a year now. Constantly exhausted.

He wraps his arms around him, curls his entire body around Louis and forces him to shrug his backpack off his shoulders so Harry can hug him tighter. The small hands fist his jumper and a cold nose presses into his neck as they rock back and forth in the middle of the room. Ten days since they last saw each other. Harry pulls back so he can kiss him, only to be interrupted by Louis’ guard clearing his throat.

“Yeah, right, save that for later, boys. Let’s get you home.”

They come through the door around nine thirty that evening, with heavy suitcases and even heavier eyelids. Louis locks the door behind them, makes sure the gate is closed and the cameras in the garden are on, as Harry carries their luggage upstairs. It’s oddly quiet as he drops it in the middle of their bedroom and tries to breathe in the smell of being home. Eight months. For eight months they’ve been on tour, and no one but the cleaning staff has moved across these floors.

He ignores the knot in his chest as he walks over to the window and lets the fresh, cold air in. It’ll be good, he thinks to himself. If they just eat something, get some sleep and unpack in the morning, everything will feel at peace again, he’s sure of it. Soon enough, he’ll feel his tense shoulders sink and the familiarity of being back _home_ will hit him.

He hears Louis talking on the phone when he comes back downstairs, judging by the tone of his voice he’s ordering pizza. Harry shoots him a smile as he walks into the kitchen and finds him by the open window, making their order as a cigarette hangs between his two fingers.

Louis hangs up and looks at Harry, “Got you pepperoni,” he says and takes a long drag of the cigarette. Harry holds back an impulse to tell him to put it out, the house smells weird enough without the smoke clinging to the walls, but he bites his tongue, doesn’t think he can handle an argument right now.

Instead he nods as he pushes himself off the counter and goes out into the hallway, grabs Louis’ laptop from his backpack and spends the next upcoming ten minutes trying to figure out how to make the thing connect to their TV that hasn’t been used, much less updated, in eight months. Eventually he manages to make it work and puts on an episode of Breaking Bad before he sinks back against the pillows on the couch. He pats one of the dark green pillows beside him, tries to get the itching out of his body. Green pillows. For some reason, he had remembered them as navy blue.

Louis comes into the living room after a few minutes, pauses in front of the coffee table and stretches his arms over his head, back cracking as he lets out a puff of air.

“It feels weird,” he says, once he’s sat beside Harry on the couch, curled up against his side and with his feet covered in the thick, blue Captain America blanket Liam got him last Christmas.

“I know,” Harry replies with a sigh.

“It’s been what, seven, eight months? Since we lived together here…” Louis continues, gaze fixated on the screen even though he’s so obviously not paying attention.

“We’ve been in the house in LA a bit,” Harry says and presses his nose into Louis’ hair. Even though that doesn’t make much sense, because their LA house has never felt like home, they have never referred to it as anything else but a holiday house maybe. It doesn’t count as home, neither does their other flat here in London, or the one in New York.

This house is home because it’s what they mean when they say they are homesick, when the bunk beds on the bus become too small and the need for something other than a hotel room grows. In this house, it’s their stuff laying around and their clothes in the wardrobes and their pictures on the walls. It’s the only place they’ve brought their own furniture to, the house that replaced the rented flat in Princess Park.

“Yeah, I guess,” Louis mumbles and leans into Harry’s side.

They sit like that, in their living room, a place that all of sudden feels too big for them, after spending the last half a year on a tour bus, until the pizza arrives and Louis untangles himself from Harry to go and get it for them.

It’s only a bit past ten when they’re done eating, and the leftovers are stuffed into the empty fridge. As Harry keeps carding his fingers through Louis’ hair, he tries hard to ignore the uneasy feeling growing inside him. The uncomfortable, numb knot tying up in his chest that all new places give him, whether it’s a hotel room or a new arena. But everything is so quiet. They’re home, watching Netflix in their own couch for the first time in so many months, and all he can think about is that he hasn’t seen Louis in ten days, and nothing is like it should be after that long apart. They should be all over each other, instead Louis’ body is a dead weight pressed against him. They’re home, and how terrifying is it, to feel so numb in your own house.

He makes it until eleven before he asks Louis if they should go to bed.

As they walk up the stairs, Harry starts to feel the restlessness in his limbs. The stress that comes from sitting down from too long, the anxiety that comes with having nothing to do, nowhere to be.

They brush their teeth beside each other and don’t have to squeeze tight together to make both their faces fit in the mirror. They undress and Harry folds their clothes as Louis showers, placing them neatly in the drawers. After Harry has showered, they pull the curtains down and crawls into the bed – their bed, and despite the fact that there’s plenty of space for both of them, Louis still shuffles over to Harry’s side and gets his body curled up behind him as three quarters of the space is left empty. Fucking king size mattress, why on earth did they think they would need that. He rolls over to let Louis spoon him because that’s how they always do.

Used to. It’s been a while since they slept together. Even longer since they had sex.

He tries not to think about it.

Louis has never been great at tiptoeing. On second thought, neither has he been great at staying quiet in general. Usually Harry wakes up for just a few seconds or so before he falls back asleep, whenever Louis uses the loo or goes to get a bottle of water in the middle of the night.

Tonight, is different.

When he hears Louis not that quietly tiptoeing out of the room, he slowly sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. As he rubs the back of his neck and tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, he listens to the sound of Louis making his way down the stairs. Harry looks around in the bedroom and shakes his head when he realises that Louis didn’t bother putting any clothes on. Knowing him, he’ll be cold as ice when he gets back and bug Harry about it, that’s one thing for sure.

Eventually he gets up as well and pulls on his boxers. He grabs the jumper he wore last night when they got home, the grey big one with fluff on the inside he doesn’t get to keep for himself very often. With the jumper folded over his arm he grabs a pair of socks from the drawer and makes his way downstairs.

It would have been pitch black in the house if it wasn’t for the full moon coming through the big windows. As he steps into the kitchen, his eyes burn as they get used to the cold fridge light that washes over the room. Louis stands right in front of it, with the door handle in his hand and tired eyes scanning the empty fridge.

Harry leans against the door frame as he watches him. Louis just keeps staring into the fridge, until he eventually shuts his eyes and closes the door. The only source of light goes back to being the moon coming through the window, dancing over Louis’ naked body, making him look even smaller, even thinner, even more fragile. Harry still hates himself for not noticing earlier on when Louis started to lose weight this summer, how he replaced food with cigarettes and Red Bull, until he wasted away. Even though Louis has told him a million times it has nothing to do with Harry, they both know that’s a lie.

He’s still beautiful though. Harry will always find him so beautiful. Even now, when he’s got dark circles under his eyes, when he’s clenching and unclenching his fists as he always does when he’s getting restless. Even now, Harry finds him so beautiful.

As he stands there and waits for Louis to notice him, he desperately tries to understand why the weird, anxious knot in his chest hasn’t yet untied. Why doesn’t he feel at peace, why is he looking at Louis and wondering how he’ll act once their eyes meet? Why does this house feel so wrong, when it’s the place he’s been missing the most for the last eight months? He’s been counting down the days to get home, and now he’s here, watching the man he loves, and wonders why on earth it doesn’t feel enough.

After what seems like a lifetime but is probably not more than three quiet minutes, Louis turns around and reaches for the jumper Harry’s holding. He slips it over his head and holds onto Harry’s arm as he balances on one leg to put on the socks.

“I’m hungry,” he says quietly, the voice breaking through the air between them like a tornado, making it feel too loud and misplaced. Harry almost frowns at him for a split second, then he meets Louis’ exhausted eyes for the first times since he came downstairs. He catches his rambling thoughts the moment his heart starts sinking in his chest. Because never once, for as long as they’ve known each other, has he thought of Louis’ voice as too loud or misplaced… and now, he feels like he can’t stand either of their voices.

Maybe Louis gets it, because he looks away and presses his lips together as he lets go of Harry’s arm.

If there’s burning behind Harry’s eyes when he nods and puts on a kettle, then no one but himself will know. If there’s a sniffle slipping past his lips as he digs through the freezer to find the old bread slices and a jar of frozen jam, then Louis pretends not to notice. If there’s a murdering noise from the microwave as he heats the poor food, then at least it’s a good cover up for the second sniffle. He has his back turned to Louis as he puts jam on the bread and wipes the tears that managed to escape through his thick walls of protection.

He takes more time than he needs to put the bread on a plate and pour the tea into the cup. They don’t have any milk, so he doubts Louis will drink it, but at least it’s something. When he eventually turns around, he’s collected the food in his hands as well as himself and takes the few steps towards Louis where’s he’s sitting on one of the bar stools by the window. He’s playing with his packet of cigarettes, letting it slide over the wood on the table and then picks it up to flip it over. He’s probably in need for a smoke, Harry can see it in his restless fingers. How much he needs a distraction. It’s all about distractions.

He sets down the poor plate and even poorer tea in front of him. Louis sees his trembling hands and if he thinks something about it then he’s kind enough not to comment on it. Instead he shoots Harry a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Harry brushes Louis’ fridge out of his forehead with light fingers as he wonders why he’s not as happy as he used to be.

Louis leans into his touch with closed eyes while Harry tilts his head back and swallows down the knot in his chest that has found its way up his throat by now, making it harder to properly breathe. He continues to card his fingers through Louis’ hair, simply because he’s so scared one of them will say something if he sits down on the other side of the table. Louis eventually let his head rest against Harry’s bare chest, making the knot in his throat ease up a bit, only to grow again when he feels the wetness from Louis’ cheek against his skin.

They haven’t been… great, the last couple of months. It was less and less conversation, less laughter, less hanging out just the two of them, and more of seeing each other briefly during the days, doing the shows at night and then getting the post-show adrenaline out between the sheets.

Maybe Harry is naïve, but he really thought everything would fall back into normal as soon as they stepped through their front door. They’d fall into the habits of being in love, being in a proper relationship, as soon as these walls they chose together swallowed them. His hands would be all over Louis’ body, his heart filled with need and his brain focused on loving him and him only. Naïve or not, he could never imagine his fingers would feel as numb and hesitant running through Louis’ soft hair as they do now.

Louis must feel it too, because a sniffle slips past his lips when Harry’s fingers accidentally stop for half a second. Harry is terrified of saying a word, he’s terrified of what might come. An argument. A fight. A confession. Or worse. He’s so scared of mentioning anything that can suggest that they’re not okay.

Harry’s shoulders are shaking by the time he pulls Louis off the chair and sinks down with him to the floor. His knees give out beneath him and he doesn’t want to go down alone, he can’t, not yet. They slump against the wall, Louis curls up in his lap and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders as Harry buries his head in Louis’ neck. He feels his face getting wet by the constant flow of tears spilling over and the way Louis trembles in his arms doesn’t help at all. When he tries to pull Louis even closer and hold him even tighter to make his body stop shudder all he gets as a response is a broken sob against his shoulder, which echoes through the cold kitchen and the knot in Harry’s throat almost makes it all the way up.

“Baby–” his voice cracks before he’s even managed to get half of the word out, and Louis just shakes his head and presses his fingertips harder into Harry’s skin. Harry’s only in his boxers and there’s nothing for Louis to hold onto, so his hands try desperately to get under Harry’s skin. He pulls and scratches and tries so hard to get closer, almost like he’s almost drowning.

His cracked voice hangs in the air, making the room feel even bigger, even wider, ever colder and for a short moment, when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t recognise in which part of the kitchen they’re sitting.

Louis is not close enough. He’s all wrapped up around Harry and their chests are pressed so tight together it’s almost hard to breathe, and he’s not _close_ enough. Harry has his face in Louis’ neck, he desperately tries to suck in breath after breath, just to feel the scent of Louis tickling in his nose. Nothing happens, instead he smells airplane and cigarettes and it’s nothing like Louis _at all_. A sudden outburst of panic raises in his chest as he tries to breathe in more and more of Louis, his lungs are burning because he doesn’t let any air out, he just keeps inhaling until he feels like he might explode. All he needs is the scent of Louis. Of his Louis. His heart is a numb rock in his chest and his shoulders are shaking so badly, there’s a ringing in his ears which doesn’t stop.

He can’t find him. Louis is right here in his arms and Harry has no idea where he needs to start looking.

It hurts when Louis tugs harshly on his curls and pulls him away from his neck. The cold air hits his hot wet face and it _burns_ , just as much as his lungs burn when he finally exhales and Louis presses their foreheads together.

“Breathe, you fucking idiot,” Louis cracks out and his eyes are all bloodshot and there are rosy spots over his neck. His lips are swollen from nervously biting them and there’s a wrinkle between his brows as he scans Harry’s face. He almost knocks the breath out of Harry’s lungs once more.

God, he _misses_ him.

Harry tries to exhale again but it comes out as a sob that’s been tickling in the back of his throat for way too long now. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the panic in Louis’. The constant panic, the stress in Harry’s chest that’s been there for so long now, every single time he’s had Louis in his arms. It feels like when you miss a step while walking down the stairs, and your heart and lungs are about to jump out of your body. Constantly, for so many months when they’ve not been okay, Harry has felt just that certain panic. Like he keeps missing steps.

“H… Harry, it– it’s okay, we can fix this,” Louis whispers but not even his voice could calm Harry down right now. Instead he has a sudden impulse to pull away from him, get as far as away as possible, it hurts too much, _god_ it burns him. Eats him from the inside. Everything scratches and Louis is not _close enough_. “Baby…” Louis tries again and when his voice breaks for a second time Harry can’t take it anymore.

Never once during the first two years with Louis did Harry doubt they’d make it. There wasn’t a single piece of unsureness, of hesitation. They were going to marry each other, they were endgame. After they’d had the time of their life in the band, they would build a little family together. Harry knew in the bottom of his heart when he was seventeen that it was all he’d ever want. All he’d ever need.

And now he sits on their kitchen floor with the same man in his arms and suddenly he’s not sure anymore.

He buries his face in Louis’ neck once more, without trying to breathe in the scent of him this time. Instead he just holds him so tight, as close as he possibly can, and ignores how familiar every single curve of Louis’ body feels in his arms.

It’s not his love for Louis he doubts. Harry’s pretty satisfied with the fact that no one will ever be able to love Louis as much, as intensely, and as whole heartily as he does. No one. And it’s not their love that’s the problem.

Because it was all they used to need.

They sit like that until Harry’s bum is cold against the kitchen floor, until Louis is shivering despite wearing the warm jumper. Until his eyes are oversensitive and itchy from all the crying, so every blink feels like too much. Until the knot in his throat has grown to a point where it’s just a constant press over his chest, like someone has tried to squeeze him into a way too small t-shirt. Until their edgy breaths at the top of their lungs are replaced by normal breathing. Until every exhale doesn’t feel like the last anymore.

The clock on the microwave shows four thirteen when Harry finally dares to glance at it. If it was summer, the sun would be slipping through the windows by now and they’d hear the birds sing in the garden. Though, summer is far away, and Harry has forgotten how warmth feels. Instead the pitch-black sky still swallows them, and even the moon’s light seems to start feeling tired, because it fades and abandons Harry and Louis on the kitchen floor.

Sometime after Harry starts running his fingers through Louis’ hair again, the room finally shrinks and goes back to its normal state. The walls are no longer that far apart, and the door frame on the other side of the room doesn’t feel like a marathon away anymore.

He doesn’t know which one of them starts moving, but eventually they’ve hauled each other up from the floor and made it up the stairs, into their bed, and Harry wraps his arms around Louis and lets him move around for several minutes until he’s comfortable, with his still clothed feet pressed between Harrys calves and his head tucked under Harry’s chin. He buries his nose into the feather soft hair and tells himself that for tonight, he’ll let everything be broken. The dawn is already creeping through the curtains, the press over his chest hasn’t eased the slightest, and he knows they’re both preparing for a fight, or a talk, or an end to everything in just a few hours.

This is not who they used to be.

And the numb press tightens over Harry’s chest

as he tries to remember how it feels

to have

a heartbeat.


	2. meet me in the hallway

**_MEET ME IN THE HALLWAY_ **

_February 2015, Tokyo_

The adrenaline rushes through his body when he presses his lips against Louis’ neck. 

“Harry, fuck, come on, no fucking teasing,” Louis breathes out but the sentence is split in half by a moan when Harry pulls back just the tiniest bit so he can press right back in again. 

Louis’ back arches off the bed and his hands wraps around Harry's chest to pull him down, closer. His thighs are locked around Harry’s hips and everything Harry can focus on is how incredibly tight Louis is and how _good_ it feels. He pushes himself up on his hands again, and with his palms pressed into the mattress on either side of Louis’ head, he pulls out once and then starts rocking his hips. He can’t tear his eyes away from between their bodies as he watches how his cock disappears between Louis’ ass cheeks. He rocks his hips in slow motions a few times as he leans down and presses more kisses to Louis’ neck, keeps working on that trail of love bites he’s planning on leaving down his chest. He knows it will make Louis absolutely furious when he finds them tomorrow, and Niall will raise an eyebrow at Harry during breakfast, and Lou will probably slice Louis’ throat instead of even trying to cover it up, but right now neither of them care the slightest.

“For god’s fucking sake,” Louis hisses and his legs tightens around Harry’s hips. His small hands find their way to Harry’s ass and he spread his fingers over his cheeks as he tries to pull him closer. “If you're going to go so slow all fucking day I could’ve fucked myself properly– _ah_ ah oh, god– yes,” Louis’ mouth falls open when Harry pulls all the way out until he almost slips out, before thrusting back in with so much force that it knocks the breath out of both of them. 

It's been too long, Harry realises when Louis clenches down around him and he goes for another particular hard thrust. There’s no way he will be able to fuck Louis in all the five different positions he imagined when they were on stage just a few hours ago. He’s not going to last that long; it’s been a few months now since they were together and _god_. 

The moan that slips out of him is almost embarrassing, but Louis’ thumb is running over his nipple and how Harry could have gone so long without him is a mystery. 

Louis covers his eyes with his forearm as Harry places his hands on the back of his thighs and pushes them up, so Louis is almost bent in half and Harry can feel every thrust going deeper than the last. 

“Mmhm, come on,” Louis breathes out and removes his forearm from his eyes. Harry meets his eyes and they’re a little wet.

Harry leans down again and Louis’ legs lock themselves around Harry's hips once more. “Tell me, baby,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck. He trails his tongue over the angry red marks and slows down his thrusts until they’re nothing but slow rocking again.

Louis whines in protest and arches his back as he tries to fuck himself down on Harry’s cock. He’s whimpering now, small noises slip over his lips as Harry stops moving completely, with his cock buried deep inside and Louis tries to grind down on him. He still hasn’t replied, so Harry bites down – hard – right on the hickey. Louis gasps and tries to squirm away but Harry holds him down, grabs his wrists and pulls them over his head when Louis tries to reach down between them. 

“Harry...” Louis breathes out. Harry kind of expects him to say something snappy or sarcastic, something about how Harry’s cock is nowhere near pleasing him, but he doesn’t. Instead he tilts his head up and his eyes meet Harry’s, those blue eyes Harry is so, so, _so_ in love with. His bottom lip trembles and Harry slowly leans down and sucks it between his own lips, lets his tongue trail over the soft skin as he listens to their hearts raising against each other’s chests. Louis doesn’t kiss him back, Harry’s pretty sure he wants to but can’t, not with the way his heart is pounding and his eyes are wet and his cock is _hard_ lying on his stomach, completely ignored since they stumbled into the hotel room thirty minutes ago. Drunk on tequila shots and adrenaline from the show.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Harry mumbles, his hot breath against Louis’ cheek. He still hasn’t moved, and even though he believes his cock would be quite content with staying inside Louis’ arse for the rest of infinity, he also really, _really_ wants to come.

Much to his surprise, Louis closes his eyes and shakes his head. Harry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, just happily accepts it when Louis frees his hands and pulls Harry down so they can kiss again. A sloppy and wet kiss, with more spit and tongue than lips but it’s so great Harry’s knees start to feel a bit like jelly. After a minute or two Louis grinds his hips down again and this time Harry doesn’t stop him.

“Yeah, okay baby,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ neck. He pulls back completely and his cock slips all the way out. Louis sucks in a breath Harry smiles at him, “Turn over for me.”

Louis closes his eyes for a moment, bites down on his bottom lip and rolls over on his stomach. Harry grabs his hips and pulls them up, and _god if this isn’t the most beautiful view he knows_. His heart hammers in his chest as he watches how Louis wraps his arms around a pillow, arse up face down on the bed.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles.

Louis huffs, “Yeah, I know, please make me come now.” Harry raises an eyebrow as he places his hands on either of Louis’ arse cheeks and pulls them apart a little, watches his already stretched and open hole, rim a little red and puffy.

“Don’t get cheeky,” he warns, grabs the flesh of Louis’ skin a little harder than necessary. It gets a whimper out of Louis and Harry’s cock twitches at the sound. He does it again. The rim clenches around nothing and Louis’ legs spread automatically, so far he almost lays flat on his stomach. Harry can’t take his eyes away from the view, can’t help but lean in and press his tongue against the rim.

Louis practically cries out, his legs pulls up against his chest and the rim clenches against Harry’s tongue, trying to get it inside. Harry presses his tongue against the it for a moment before he lets it slip in. He keeps one hand on Louis’ cheek and wraps the other around his own cock. He licks into Louis and holds his hips up when he feels Louis almost slipping down. Harry chuckles a little and pulls his face away.

“I swear to _god_ , Harry, I’m going to kill you,” his voice gets muffled by the pillow and Harry braces himself over Louis again, guiding his cock in once again and places his hands on either side of Louis’ face, his chest flushed against Louis’ back as he bottoms out.

“Shhh,” Harry whispers and presses his lips between Louis’ shoulder blades as he pulls back a little and presses back in. Hard. It makes both of them moan.

He drags his hips backwards, pulling out, then changes the angle slightly, before he pushes in again, with much more force this time. He nails the prostate immediately, which has Louis arching his back and one of his hands grabs Harry’s wrist. He presses his fingertips hard into Harry’s arm as Harry repeats the motion, pulling out slowly and then going back in, harder, and it rips out another moan from the beautiful, _beautiful_ man beneath him. 

Harry drops to his elbows, and now there’s not an inch of space between their bodies. He rocks into Louis with steady short thrusts that makes both of them move in sync, presses his lips against Louis’ shoulder, bites down a little when he gives a particular hard trust that has Louis’ squirming underneath him.

“Fuck, ah– please, H, shit,” Louis hiccups and Harry holds onto him hard. He turns his face a little so Harry can lean down and press their lips together. The angle is a bit awkward but they make it work. Louis is so tight and warm and the small whimpers slipping past his lips without him meaning to are the best sound Harry knows. He’s so close, been close for ages, with the way Louis is so tight around his cock and how good it feels every time he pushes inside and then pulls back. Each time a particular hard thrust hits right, Louis clenches down around him and Harry swears as he feels the familiar warmth building up in his abdomen.

“Lou…” he can’t help but moan out and slows down his thrusts again. Louis tugs hard on Harry’s arm. He believes he catches a _don’t you fucking dare to come_ somewhere between the panting and the moaning, and that’s enough for him to take a deep breath and pull himself up on his arms again. He speeds up his thrusts, fucks into Louis better now, harder, in a way that makes him psychically feel his orgasm building in his stomach, every pull, every thrust feels like the one he’s going to tip over, and he’s so, _so_ close when.

Louis comes.

Harry holds onto him as he comes hard, squirming in Harry’s arms as Harry keeps fucking into him in the same pace, until Louis clenching around him and his sobs from overstimulation becomes too much and Harry’s arms give out as his own orgasm rips through his entire body. He collapses on top of Louis while his hips rock themselves through the aftershocks. His heart is hammering so loudly that he can barely hear anything else, and his whole body feels numb, like he has run a marathon.

After a minute or two, Louis moves underneath him. “Ugh, get off,” he mumbles and rolls away from him. Harry doesn’t open his eyes for a few more seconds, until Louis kicks his leg, which makes Harry get up and hurry to the bathroom. Hhe comes back with a hot towel and spends the next ten minutes carefully cleaning both of them up, as he presses soft kisses to all of Louis’ bruises, his nipples, his belly button, his hips, the inside of his thighs. His lips.

He tosses the towel on the floor when he is done. They’re both awfully sweaty and in desperate need of a shower, from the show earlier but also from one hour of sex. He smiles softly at Louis who lays naked, with closed eyes and parted legs as he breathes heavily.

He replaces himself between Louis’ legs. Louis takes no notice to him as Harry starts pressing more kisses over his chest. He lets his tongue play with Louis’ left nipple until a small hand tugs at his curls and makes a weak attempt to pull him away. Harry is still smiling as he focuses on pressing soft kisses over his collarbones, runs the tip of his tongue slowly over the red and angry marks on the neck and chuckles when Louis makes an even weaker attempt to squirm away.

Then it hits him for the first time since they stumbled into the hotel room.

They are not together.

For the first time they are broken up for real, Harry’s knows this. The logical part of his brain knows this. They haven’t slept together or even kissed each other in over a month now. Tour has only been going on for a few weeks though, and they have already fallen back into old habits.

“Being on a break worked out well,” he mumbles and doesn’t really notice when Louis’ fingers that have been running through his hair stop. Harry’s still pretty drunk. They were a bit drunk before they even went on stage tonight, since they had one of those quite rare preshow parties. And then when they got off stage, Niall and Louis had thought it would be an amazing idea to throw an after-show-party at the bar in the venue, when all the fans were gone and it was just their touring team left. He can still feel the tequila tickling in his blood, making his head a little bit fuzzy and right now, in his post-orgasm state, he can’t make sense of a single thought crossing his head, and his brain-to-mouth-filter has completely shut down.

“Fuck I missed you, this was so fucking unnecessary. You’re so fucking gorgeous and I can’t believe that you’re all mine, just mine,” he presses the words into Louis’ skin, soft kisses.

“Harry, stop it,” Louis tugs a little at Harry’s curls. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Harry suddenly feels completely sober. He pulls back, “You’re kidding right?” he says and just stares at him. Nothing in Louis’ face says that he’s kidding. Instead Louis sighs and pushes Harry off him. He sits cross legged on the bed and pulls the duvet up.

“This was a mistake, we said we shouldn’t do this,” Louis sighs.

“Come on now,” Harry’s heartbeats are picking up in his chest. “We both clearly want this.”

“Can we not have this discussion now?” Louis says and his eyes look so tired, _hurt_ , even. “You know that’s not why we broke up.”

“What? So we can still fuck but not be together?” the confusion in Harry’s chest is getting replaced with annoyance.

“I said this was a _mistake_ ,” Louis repeats and sighs as he looks away and reaches for his shirt on the floor, almost like Harry is a child who doesn’t understand. Harry fucking hates it when he does this. “We’re not doing this anymore.”

“You were literally crying on my cock fifteen minutes ago,” Harry spits out and Louis snaps his head towards him again.

“Get out,” he hisses, voice so low Harry is positive he must have misheard. He frowns as he scans Louis’ face, the blown pupils and swollen lips and rosy cheeks and _hurt_ eyes.

“Louis, come on, don’t be like this,” Harry reaches up to run his fingers through Louis’ sweaty fringe. His hand gets swatted away.

“I said,” Louis takes a deep breath and presses his palms against Harry’s chest, pushes him, “Get _out_ ,” he pulls the duvet up higher over himself.

“Can’t we talk about it? You’re being unreasonable right now.”

“I swear to god if you don’t leave me alone I’ll kick your arse and call security,” his voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, raw and rougher than usual. It’s only now Harry catches the tears in his eyes. The panic that raises behind the blue irises. His own mood switches completely and panic starts hammering in his chest as he sits up as well, still completely naked around the messy white sheets in the bed.

“Shit, Lou, I’m sorry, what’s–” he tries to reach for Louis.

“Fuck it, just get _out_!” Louis moves away too quickly and literally pushes Harry off the bed. “I literally don’t want to fight you over this stupid thing so just _leave me_ , you have no fucking right.”

“ _Fine!_ ” Harry almost shouts back and gets off the bed, grabs his phone on the nightstand and his shirt off the floor and pulls on his boxers. He picks up his jeans and leaves the room without even putting them on, suddenly he can’t stand even being in the same room as Louis a second longer. “Fuck you too,” he spits out and slams the door shut behind him.

He slumps against the wall on the other side of the hallway, facing the door as his legs give out and he slides down on the floor. He pulls his knees up to his chest and tilts his head back against the hard wall. His heart is pounding, his limbs hurt, and everything around him is dark except from the single source of light coming from the end of the hallway. Everything is too _quiet_. When his heart rate finally has decreased, he realises what just happened. Louis threw him out. Harry stares at the door he just slammed shut and frowns as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. He’s a bit too drunk to handle this, he realises, a little bit too drunk to let himself get hurt.

He’s about to stand up and go to his own room when he realises that he hasn’t got a key. For obvious reasons, he didn’t bother finding Paul and getting his own, he left the venue with Louis before he even had a change to give that detail a thought. And it’s not like Paul ever bothers to find Harry whenever the two of them disappear, he has learnt from experience over the years. He debates with himself for a moment whether or not he should try to wake up one of the other boys and crawl into bed with them. Although, all of them sleep with their phones on silent mode and Harry has no idea which rooms they are in. He also doesn’t really fancy knocking on every single door in the hallway and waking up half of the hotel before he finds someone who will let him in and share bed with him, half naked.

He closes his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. He allows himself to have ten seconds of just breathing, before he reopens his eyes and pulls on the white shirt he’s still clutching in his hand. He slips his arms into the sleeves and fumbles with the buttons. He turns for the jeans next, but when he holds them up in front of him, he realises that in all the hurry he accidently grabbed Louis’. Great. A groan slips out of him as he tosses them away. He rubs his hands over his face and tries to make his fuzzy mind figure the fuck out of what he’s going to do now.

He doesn’t really get why Louis threw him out. Today has been so _great_. All day they have been flirting with each other, and during the after-party Louis had pressed him against a wall and kissed him until both of them felt dizzy. Since the tour started Harry’s has felt extremely lonely in his hotel rooms, and he was very much looking forward not sleeping alone tonight.

But they aren’t together anymore. Louis is not his boyfriend. Right now, he can’t really remember a single reason as to why they decided on that, but his sober self shall. His sober self will, without doubt, be able to recall all of their fights and how much it hurt lying and how hard it was to show love in private when they spent so much of their days purposely ignoring each other. He will be able to recall how it always seems easier for him to “fuck off to LA to hang out with his stupid posh friends” (Louis’ words), than to come home and face their relationship problems. His sober self has always hated himself for doing that, and still been unable to stop.

He didn’t even want to do this tour to begin with. He wanted a break from it all. Just long enough so they could breathe, maybe do something else. They’re already over-worked and here they are, on tour, another eight months of constantly watching every step he takes. Don’t talk to Louis. Don’t smile at Louis. Don’t even look at Louis.

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.

_“I don’t think we should be together anymore,” Louis said, and Harry stopped in the middle of the living room. He stared in front of him as he pressed his phone against his ear._

_“What?”_

_“You heard me, H, it’s enough for both of us,” Louis said with a sigh._

_And it didn’t come as a surprise for Harry, it really didn’t. He had thought the same thoughts, wondered how he was supposed to bring it up. Louis just happened to be quicker._

_And still, now when it was brought up, out in the open, he couldn’t breathe._

_“Get someone to move you out before I get back, okay?” Louis continued and Harry felt like he was drowning, “It’d be easier like that… right?”_

_“Right,” he heard himself say._

_“Yeah…” Louis cleared his throat, “I’ll… I’ll call you a little bit later?”_

They talked it through when Louis got back. They saw each other at rehearsals. That was it. They were friends, they were friendly to each other. But they kept their distance even in private now. Didn’t talk more than they needed, didn’t joke around.

And to Harry’s surprise, as soon as they were back on tour, it wasn’t much of a difference from what it had been before. And he still doesn’t know how the fuck he should feel about that.

Louis.

His Louis. He closes his eyes again and tries to push the worried thoughts away. He forces himself to think of nothing, and especially not the way Louis had been crying as he pushed Harry, demanded him to get out. He moves around a bit, tilts his head and tries to curl up around himself. Louis will most likely open the door soon and let him in, he can’t let Harry sleep on the floor in the hallway. They might be fighting, but they have never had a fight that meant that they would punish the other person. They can fight for days and still drop it as soon as the other person needs anything. Harry’s certain Louis will open the door, he’ll just have to wait.

Half an hour later Harry gives up and stands again. He walks the three steps across the hall and knocks on the door.

“Lou,” he mumbles. “Lou. I don’t have a key, let me in, please.” He taps his fingertips against the wood. Louis has probably fallen asleep, and Harry closes his eyes as he waits for a reply that doesn’t come.

“Lou, babe, come on.” He knocks his forehead against the door a few times before he sinks down on the floor again, leaning his entire body against the door.

He waits for Louis to reply, or even better: open. Although nothing happens and it _hurts_. It hurts because Louis is well aware that Harry is sitting outside this dumb door and he _knows_ Harry doesn’t want them to fight.

His eyelids are starting to get heavy as he leans against the door. His heart has been beating loudly for so long, he’s tired of feeling it hammer in his chest, it’s exhausting.

After a few minutes he decides to give it one last try and unlocks his phone to dial Louis’ number. He’s not surprised when Louis presses red and hangs up on him. At least now he knows Louis is still awake. Harry calls again. And then one more time. Louis keeps hanging up on the other side of the door. If he was too bothered, he could easily just have shut his phone off. But he doesn’t. So Harry keeps calling over and over again. It’s like a silent war going on between the two of them, with Harry exposed on the battlefield also known as the hallway and Louis safe inside his hotel room.

Then, after almost twenty calls and just as many hang ups, Louis picks up.

“H, stop it.” He sounds so tired. And sad.

“You stop it, please open the door,” Harry’s own voice sounds tired. And… maybe a little sad.

“I can’t,” Louis sys with a sigh.

“And why is that exactly?”

“Because you...” Louis stays quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to weigh his words, “because then you will come inside and sleep next to me and as much as I’d like to trust us to do that without messing up, I know we would.”

They had sex less than an hour ago, they’ve already messed up. Logic is thrown out of the window, completely gone. As always when it comes to the two of them.

“I won’t even look at you if that’s what you need,” Harry hears himself say, even though he can’t keep that promise.

“It doesn’t work like that...” Louis says. Harry can hear him move on the other side of the door, it sounds like he’s sliding down the door and sitting down against it. If he is, they’re back to back now, a thin hotel door between them “It’s like, my body knows that it’s _you_ and I’m so tired of feeling like this all the damn time.”

“Like what?”

“Like I can’t breathe without you.”

All of Harry’s senses awake and he’s taken aback. That is probably one of the rawest things Louis has ever said to him.

And it sounds like he’s blaming Harry for the pain. Like it’s Harry’s fault.

“Baby…” Harry manages to say, voice a little shaky. His tries to swallow past the lump forming in his throat.

“Don’t call me that,” Louis’ voice is getting higher and he talks faster. “We can’t do that anymore. You can’t... I need... it’d be so much easier if you just didn’t.”

Harry doesn’t know what to reply. He knows, he understands, but fuck all of that right now. Right now, he wants and needs nothing more than to curl up beside Louis in the millionth hotel bed they’ve shared, and wake up to Louis shuffling closer because Harry has stolen the covers during the night.

“You know we are endgame,” he says finally.

“That doesn’t fucking matter, I don’t want to have this conversation with you,” Harry’s pretty sure he can hear him through the door.

“Alright, just let me in so we can sleep.”

“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”

Harry doesn’t even have the energy to point out that it makes no sense at all.

“Then let me sleep in the armchair.”

For a moment or two, Louis is quiet. It’s almost like he’s considering it.

“Go and find the boys instead, they are probably on this floor.”

Louis shuts people out all the time. He’s an expert at hiding, stuffing his feelings far away for no one to find. He shuts Harry out too on daily basis, refuses to tell him why he’s upset and instead plays pranks on people or chain smokes or gets high. Harry usually coaxes him out of it though; he’s one of the few people, if not the only one, Louis has ever completely let in. Now though, after tonight, he seems so determined on not letting Harry in, both physically and emotionally, that Harry feels lost. With the wall between them, Harry can’t reach for Louis, he can’t cup his hands around Louis’ neck or stroke his back or hold him until Louis melts. With the wall between them Louis doesn’t have to give up control.

“Don’t do this, Lou.”

“Can we hang up?”

If someone had said Harry was kicked out of the band, that would probably have hurt less. He wipes his tears away, he doesn’t really know when they started, but now they can’t seem to stop falling.

“This has nothing to do with me not loving you,” Louis says. “But I just... fuck, I feel stuck, yeah?”

And Harry gets it, he gets it.

“I know,” he swallows, “Me too.”

“I told you I was going to mess us up eventually, H, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Find one of the lads, okay?”

“Right.”

“Harry… mate, wake up.”

A huge hand rubs his shoulder and Harry slowly opens his eyes to be met by Liam’s kind, brown ones. They’re worried, and he has a frown between his brows. Harry shuts his eyes closed again; he doesn’t quite have the energy to deal with this right now. His back and neck hurt like hell, and he’d much prefer to lay back down on the floor and keep _sleeping_.

“Okay, come on, time to get you into bed,” Liam mumbles and his hands come around Harry’s back and in less than a few seconds he’s hauled up from the floor. For a moment his head spins and dark spots appear in front of his eyes. If it wasn’t for Liam’s arms around him, he’d most likely have lost balance. He clings onto Liam and wraps his arms around his shoulders, suddenly in desperate need of human contact, of warmth.

“I just got to get better,” he mumbles when they walk down the hall towards Liam’s room, his legs shaky and eyes sore, even though Liam hasn’t said another word.

“Harry…”

“No. I just got to get better. I know we like, don’t talk about it and… and that he’s not mine anymore but at the same time he _is_ and nothing else will do.”

And Liam’s sigh is the last thing he remembers before his head hits the pillow on the unmade bed and the sobs start.


	3. sign of the times

**_SIGN OF THE TIMES_ **

_October 2015, Belfast_

The end of a tour always feels extra weird. Everyone is looking forward going home, not being on the road anymore, seeing their families and such. And at the same time, the tour busses and the crew have for months _been_ home and family, and the thought of breaking the well-established routines they’ve had for so long is scary. Everyone always reacts differently. Some get more stressed out the last weeks of tour, and some get into the deep work mode, some get more excited and happier. This time around, it seems like everyone is worse than usual.

Including Louis. He gets really anxious. And it shows in the weirdest possibly ways.

So far this week he has, as much as Harry has been able to count, tied together all of Liam’s shirts, hid Niall’s shoes in trash bins, played hide and seek with Lux to the point where they got lost at the venue and security searched for them for one and a half hours. He spent an entire afternoon behind a door and scared every person who passed by, and when everyone knew which door he was hiding behind, he switched to another one. He stole the bus driver’s phone and prank-called Paul during a meeting. This Monday he hid all of Lou’s makeup brushes and claimed that it was Harry who had stolen them to practice drag makeup. He has stolen food and golf carts and décor from hotel rooms and the only thing that can possibly calm him down, is being on stage.

And Harry.

Today has been worse than usual though. Later in this week they’ll have their last show, their last proper show in probably years to come, and the stress is getting to them all, because Louis has not stopped running around the venue since they got here.

It’s Liam who finally snaps, after he gets soaked by a water gun just as he finishes getting dressed for an interview they have.

“For fuck’s sake, Louis!” he snatches the gun out of Louis’ hand and tosses it as hard he can into the wall. It breaks. “Can you just calm _the fuck_ down?”

Liam never snaps, it’s kind of a rule. At least he does not snap at Louis. He gets annoyed with Niall and irritated with Harry, but he always manages to keep his face up when it comes to Louis. Apparently, out of all days, today had to be the exception.

Harry tries to turn in his chair, but Lou holds his head in place and mutters something about how he can’t move because she is not finished yet. Takes her ages nowadays to do Harry’s hair, which she kindly reminds him every single day and suggests that she can cut it. Harry doesn’t care now though; he turns in his chair anyway and just catches a glimpse of Louis slamming the door to the dressing room shut.

Liam groans and sinks down in the couch.

“Was that really necessary?” Niall opens the door and sticks his head inside. He cannot possibly know what just happened but, judging by his tone, he has a pretty solid idea.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, then?” Liam sighs and leans back in the couch.

“Maybe not yell at him… ouch, careful!” Harry has barely time to finish the sentence before Lou tugs his head back, this time she pulls harder than she really needs to.

“Oh, sorry, love,” Lou mutters and tugs harder with her brush. Her anxiety shows through the way she handles Harry’s hair. He knows she doesn’t mean it though, knows she’s exhausted because Lux has had troubles sleeping the past week and she has been awake most hours of the day. Harry doesn’t comment the next time she tugs a little harder than necessary when she combs through his hair.

He tries to follow along in Niall’s and Liam’s chat, but finds it hard to take in their passive-aggressive voices. Instead closes his eyes and bites his tongue. Tries to block out all of the sounds, tries to catch one of the rare moments of calm.

Louis doesn’t show up at the interview, which makes the PR manager fist his own hair and yell at his assistant for ten minutes. Harry tries to make up for Louis’ absence by flirting with the interviewer, so hopefully the paper will not make a headline about an over-worked, on the way down, fighting, tired, stressed-out boyband.

When there’s less than two hours left before the shows starts and Harry and Niall are just finished sound checking, Lottie grabs Harry’s arm.

“Have you seen Louis?” she asks him, and Harry shakes his head. “He’s been gone for like three hours now, and he won’t pick up when I call. Look, he just sends stupid emojis back,” she holds up her phone in Harry’s face and Harry can see an entire conversation of Louis sending alien emojis.

“Very mature of him,” Harry says.

“H, come on, he’s your boyfriend, you need to go get him,” Lottie says.

“He’s your brother,” Harry tries, but realises how weak that sounds as Lottie glares at him. He fishes his own phone out of his pocket and calls Louis, but he goes straight to voice mail as well.

Truth be told, he’s not really sure how he and Louis got back together, or if they even have. It just kind of happened. For a little while they just slept with each other when they were really drunk and lonely, and Louis slept with plenty of other people when Harry wasn’t around (Harry did too). It wasn’t really until Louis got contacted by one of his hook-ups who claimed she was pregnant with his baby that things got a little bit out of hand. Not only had Louis got her pregnant but he’d also managed to forget to get her to sign an NDA, which meant she had all the rights to go to the press with the story. Louis had been absolutely terrified by the news, and so were their team to say at least. Harry honestly thought their PR manager and Simon would both faint when the girl came into a meeting with her demands. Louis told Harry and the rest of the boys that she had said _It’s your baby but it’s none of your business_ , and had made clear what kind of financial support she wanted from Louis. Their team quickly somehow managed to turn the scandal into a way of denying Louis’ gay rumours and his relationship with Harry. In the end, Harry doesn’t think their team hated the accident as much.

Before that, and with Zayn leaving, this spring they had so many scandals that Harry honestly had a hard time keeping up with it all. He distanced himself from it a bit, it wasn’t really intentional, but he and Louis weren’t together, it was their first proper, long breakup, and it _hurt_ seeing Louis absolutely devasted by Zayn leaving and not letting Harry comfort him in any way.

After the news of the baby though they became quite exclusive. If it was because none of them dared to sleep with anyone else or because of Harry’s default setting which made him unable to say no to Louis? He didn’t really know. Louis searched for comfort in a very unhealthy way and Harry tried his best to give it to him. Because after all, he was selfish too.

Sometime during the summer Liam asked what was going on and for some reason Harry said they were together again. Which lead to another round of panic from their team and Louis shouting at Harry for an hour straight until both of them cried.

And now they have been kind-of-together-probably-boyfriends since.

Oh, and, Louis has a new beard. _For safety reasons_ , Simon said. _For punishment_ , Harry thought.

The two of them never talk about her.

Harry gets into a golf cart and sends Louis a _???_ but he still doesn’t get a reply. He drives around a bit in the arena without luck, tries to imagine in what weird place Louis has found his new hiding spot, and sincerely hopes he’s not left the venue. If that’s the case, Harry might actually have to murder him. After about ten minutes or so, his phone lights up in his lap.

_watched u drive past me twice, use ur eyes_

Harry sighs and looks up from his phone. He drives the golf cart further away from the stage area, into one of the garages and _finally_ he spots Louis. He’s sitting down on the ground, hid away in a corner, with his legs stretched out in front of him, a cigarette between his lips and his skateboard by his side. Harry stops the car when they are a couple of meters apart and turns it off, gets out, and sits down beside him.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and tries to make eye contact, but Louis doesn’t look at him. After a minute, he takes a drag of his cigarette and offers it to Harry, who shakes his head.

It’s Louis who breaks the silence.

“Was Cockhead mad?”

Cockhead is what he calls the PR manager. Louis never liked him, and Harry’s not going to pretend he does either.

“Kind of, but it was just a magazine, he’ll get over it,” he says, and Louis nods a little. Harry doesn’t know why he pretends to care in the first place. Louis spends way too much time on a daily basis trying come up with ways to annoy Cockhead.

“The last week of shows, huh?” Louis says at last. Harry watches him carefully, tries to pick out the tone of Louis’ voice. It’s a little bit too light to be completely trustworthy.

“No need to freak out about it.”

“I am not freaking out.”

“Well,” Harry says, “You literally ran away.”

Louis fiddles with his lighter, flicks it on and off and refuses to meet Harry's eyes. He takes a final drag of his cigarette and puts it out against the cement floor as he blows out the smoke. Harry counts seven cigarette butts around him.

“Lou...”

“I’m not fucking freaking out about it, Harry,” he repeats, and Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He wants to reach out, to stroke Louis’ neck, maybe pull him into his lap. But Louis’s so itchy right now, he’d probably rather physically fight Harry than have them touching.

“There’s nothing dangerous about taking a pause. We’ll have so much fun tonight, and the rest of the week. One last week of amazing shows,” Harry reassures him for what feels like the millionth time.

Louis huffs, “That’s your reality, yeah. And Niall and Liam’s. You will be back on stage in like, three months.”

“Just as you then,” Harry dares to reach out and place a hand on Louis’ bicep. He rubs his thumb over the soft skin, over the heart tattoo he is so in awe of, purposely ignoring the ache in his own heart. Harry silently thanks all the gods and angels in the world when Louis doesn’t pull away.

“You know that’s not how it’s going to work for me, H,” Louis sighs quietly.

“Stop putting yourself down,” Harry says and Louis looks away without replying. He starts looking for his packet of cigarettes, fishes it up from his pocket. There are no cigarettes left inside but there’s a joint, so Louis lights that one and this time when he offers – Harry takes it.

They stay quiet as the smoke slowly crawls into Harry’s lungs, spreads through his blood, makes his head all dizzy and happy and relaxed. Ten minutes passes and when the joint is finished, Harry reaches out and pulls Louis into his chest. Louis buries his face in his neck and fists his hands in Harry’s t-shirt.

“Everything will be okay.”

“Easy for rockstar Harry fucking Styles to say,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, and easy for rockstar, manager and football player Louis fucking Tomlinson to say.”

“Shut up.”

Harry can’t help but smile a little and press his lips against Louis’ hair. They sit like that, against the wall in the back of the garage as they watch arena workers pass every now and then. No one takes any notice to them, for some reason this spot turned out to be a perfect hiding place, and maybe they should be tired of hiding, but right now Harry’s so thankful.

“You know, I said this at the beginning of last year,” Harry says eventually. “All of us are overworked, we need a break.”

“I know, H.”

“Do you really? Because you and Niall are the ones who keep fighting against this, at the same time the two of you are in the worst shape.”

“That’s not true,” Louis tries to pull away so he can pick up a fight, but Harry holds him closer. Let his hand slide up to Louis’ neck, puts gentle pressure right there as he feels Louis’ tense shoulders relax a little.

“Louis,” he says as he tries to make his voice as calm as possible. “I don’t even remember what you look like without dark circles under your eyes. Niall has been having regular panic attacks for two months, and Liam has a literal drinking problem…” something gets stuck in his throat as he speaks. The truth. He wishes it was something else. “Lou is overworked, everyone else at the crew is constantly snapping at one another. This is not what it used to be. This is the same scenario as the end of last tour, and if we don’t stop things will go really bad,” _Someone else might leave_ , he thinks.

Louis is quiet for so long Harry is positive he will drop the subject. With closed eyes he tries to hold onto Louis a little tighter, cling to the small body, the soft tummy, the curves. He slips his hand under Louis’ tank top, allows his fingertips to ghost over the soft skin.

He doesn’t notice Louis’ tears until he feels the front of his shirt getting damp.

Harry pulls back a bit and tries to put some space between the two of them, Louis responds with holding onto him tighter and letting the first sob slip out.

“Baby...” he whispers, scared his voice will break. He has never been great at handling Louis’ cries without tearing up himself. Yet he’s so thankful. So incredibly thankful that despite everything, despite all the shit they’ve been through, their walks to hell and back, Louis still allows himself to be weak in front of Harry. He never does with Niall or Liam. He used to with Zayn, usually searched comfort in him when he and Harry had fought. After Zayn left... yeah, it just wasn’t good.

Harry pulls Louis closer, kisses his temple, strokes his fingertips over the soft skin. He has to wipe away his own tears once or twice, because it breaks his damn heart. And he’s hurting too.

It takes one, two, three, fifteen minutes until either of them says anything, and it’s Louis who finally breaks speaks.

“I’m scared.”

Harry is scared too.

He shifts a bit in his place, untangles himself from Louis, runs his hands down Louis’ upper arms, tries to make eye contact though it’s no use.

“Lou, baby, listen to me right now,” he says, as soft as he can, tries to not make his voice crack. He leans in and presses his lips against Louis’ forehead, against his closed eyelids. They flutter under his touch. “It’ll be alright.”

Louis shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“You don’t know that,” he says, “you don’t know a damn thing about what’s going to happen,” an indication that he wants to argue, start an argument just so he can yell at Harry. Nothing is ever new.

“I do. We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Harry says, as he cups Louis’ cheeks and scans his face. “Thrown ourselves out into the unknown, insecure world. This time is safer though,” He tries and smile a little when Louis finally meets his eyes. “We’ve got each other’s backs. We’re exhausted, overworked, but we’ve got each other. We got to get away from here, but we’re doing it on good terms and as a way of developing as individuals.”

“We could just take six months break and then start touring again.”

“That would feel as if you have run a marathon, had three minutes break when you finally reached the goal and then being told that you have to do a triathlon.”

“Harry…”

“You too feel stuck, Louis. You need a break. We need one, the band does, everyone does. A break doesn’t mean you’re losing anyone.”

“But you.”

Two words and Harry’s entire world shatters. His heart crumbles in his chest, the panic replaces the air in his lungs. He wants to pull away, get out, run away. Suddenly he wants out, away, to disappear, he doesn’t want to be there anymore, in matter of seconds _he’s_ the one who can’t look at Louis, he is the one who pulls him closer again so he can avoid eye contact.

Louis is having a baby in a few months. The two of them have just got back together again after being broken up during the spring. Louis got rid of Eleanor and got Danielle instead. Louis has been making it quite clear for a very long time that they are not what they used to be anymore. That they can’t just pretend everything is alright. Because it isn’t. And both of them know that they’ll say goodbye when the band is over.

He closes his eyes because he can’t look at him. The anger boils in him, the love, the mess, everything they used to be but no longer are.

“Harry?”

He can’t, can’t reply, can’t open his eyes because then everything might fall apart. The small fingers he loves so much are tangled in his hair, smoothing the back of his neck. Under his palms Harry feels every breath Louis takes, every small move. He rests their foreheads together, is in need of that kind of support, and every tear that falls can be felt by both of them. The rational thoughts in his head are long gone, no matter how hard he desperately tries to hold onto the idea that this is for the best. They, apart, is for the best. At least for now.

“Please come back with me tonight.”

If Harry had been asked to cut his right arm off, it’d have been easier.

They’ve slept in the same bed the entire week, since they made up they have been more or less falling asleep together every night. But the fact that Louis asks now, that he feels the need to asks, turns Harry’s organs inside out. Because it just shows how fragile what they have has become. They think they’ve protected their love. Truth is, Harry’s not really sure how come they’re still labelling what they have as a relationship.

Harry was never meant to exist without Louis. Since he was sixteen years old, still a small kid with absolutely no perspective whatsoever of the world, he has had Louis’ hand to hold. They’ve guided each other through the mess. First together, as a couple. And then for a little while just as friends, back in 2013, and then as a couple again, then apart, so far from each other, during the first half of this tour. And now, apparently back together again, “stronger than ever before” as the people around them would like to believe. That’s a big lie.

This will stop. Not them being friends. But the two of them seeking comfort in each other in a way that only keeps hurting them. Them being a couple. This will stop.

“H, please,” Louis’ voice is just barely there, Harry can feel every word against his lips, Louis is so close that just one more millimetre and their lips are connected.

His hands tighten on Louis’ hips and then he finally feels his soft lips pressed against his own.

They kiss like they haven’t shared a kiss in years, they kiss with so much love and passion that it makes all the muscles in Harry’s body turn to jelly, his head gets all dizzy, all his worries disappear and Louis pulls himself closer, breaks apart for a second so he can straddle Harry’s hips, and they keep kissing.

It’s Lottie who finds them. She and Lux have found a golf cart themselves and it takes both Harry and Louis way too long to understand that the reasons she’s furious with them is that they should have been on stage ten minutes ago and neither of them have answered their phones.

Harry holds Louis’ hand as he drives the golf cart back towards the stage, then he holds his waist as he gently pushes Louis in front of him towards Paul who hands them the in-ears and scolds at them for getting lost. Then he wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him to his chest as the crew around them puts on the countdown. Then he kisses Louis and kisses him and kisses him until they have to break apart and get on stage, and he doesn’t give a fuck about who can see them, he doesn’t give a fuck how many more NDA:s their management will have the crew of the venue to sign, he doesn’t give a single fuck about anything else other than feeling Louis’ body relaxing against his and Louis kissing him back.

_October 2015, Sheffield_

“You okay?” Niall places a hand on his shoulder and Harry looks up.

“Yeah,” he says and tries to smile a little. “It feels a little bit weird though, don’t you think?” he takes a sip of his water. Twenty minutes until the show. They’ve just done the vocals warm-up and all of their friends and family are there.

“Tell me about it,” Niall says and runs a hand through his hair. He’s already got his in-ears in, fully dressed unlike Harry’s who’s just in his boxers. There’s no one else in the dressing room, but he can hear people running around outside the thin door.

The door opens and Louis comes inside. He’s got a Red Bull in his hand though Harry’s pretty sure that’s the last thing he needs. He hasn’t really seen nor talked to Louis all day, they have been hanging out with their respective families and though Harry, of course, has spent time with Louis’ family as well, he hasn’t really spoken to Louis since last night.

Niall removes his hand from Harry’s shoulder, “See yah in ten, lads,” he says and fists bumps Louis on the way out of their dressing room.

“Hi,” Louis says and holds the Red Bull out for Harry. “For you,” he says, and Harry can’t help but smile as he takes it. It’s half full.

“QuaddyVoddyRedbull?”

“You know it,” Louis’ eyes scan Harry’s body. “I hope you’re not planning on doing the last show in just your underwear. That’s a bit out of the box even for you,” he points out as Harry takes a sip of the drink. It tastes like there’s an awful lot of alcohol in it.

“No worries,” Harry says and sets the can down so he can pull on his jeans. “I just... I don’t really want to rush this, it’s all.”

“Putting on your clothes?”

“Getting to the show.”

“Harold, I’m pretty sure you haven’t rushed to anything your entire life, and that comes from me, who’s always late.”

Harry wishes Louis would cut the jokes. He can see how restless he is, how much he’s literally itching already. Add vodka and Red Bull to that.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says and grabs his white shirt which is hanging on Louis’ part of the clothing rack. As he pulls it over his head he feels Louis’ hand on his hip, skin against skin. He doesn’t let go as Harry sticks his head out of the shirt. Instead Louis shuffles a little closer.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, he cups Louis’ face in his hands, “Look at me.”

Louis fiddles with the hem of Harry’s shirt, not really looking at him. He picks a loose end, pulls on it.

“Louis,” Harry tilts his head up a little and only then do their eyes meet. 

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat, “Were going to do the best show ever, right? You and I, and Liam and Niall. It’s going to be amazing, so much fun,” he says and strokes his thumbs across Louis’ cheekbones.

Louis closes his eyes for a second, his hands come up and grab Harry’s forearms, holding onto him.

“Yeah okay,” he breathes out. Even though both of them know this has nothing to do with Louis being nervous for the show. This is so much more.

This moment. Their last concert together.

_January 2016, London_

The last time the four of them see each other is very much like the first time the five of them met. In Simon Cowell’s office in London. It’s a different office this time of course, bigger, and with more people attending the meeting. They go over the details of what’s left to do. They’re nominated for a few Brits, Louis and Liam will attend, they still have some promo to do for their album, the perfume is selling well. But even though they have a couple of more months left on the contract, they have nothing public left that they have to do as a band, nothing they will need them all there physically for.

They share a group hug after the meeting, Harry wonders if maybe they should have lunch of something together. But maybe it’s just easier if they let go like this. Right now. So they do.

Harry moved completely out of his and Louis’ house last week. He didn’t have much stuff to move, when it all came down to it, they didn’t live there together for very long, and they weren’t even a couple half of the time. He himself hasn’t lived there in over a year. Honestly, he doesn’t think it ever felt like home.

His own London flat doesn’t either. So instead of going to a place he pretends to be home, he goes on vacation with his family to Jamaica for a week. While there, he fills three notebooks of words and poems and prose and lyrics. And when the week is over, he flies to LA and starts working.

Maybe they will all meet again. During the break. Somewhere far away from this, from all the stress and anger and exhaustion and everything that is not them.

Maybe things will be different.

Maybe they will finally be alright.


	4. from the dining table

**_FROM THE DINING TABLE_ **

_April 2016, Los Angeles_

He forgot to pull down the curtains, is his first thought when his body starts waking up. The sun is peeking through the windows, and the last few days in LA have been hotter than usual this time of year. His eyes burn as he tries to rub the sleep out of them and get them used to the sunlight filling up the room. When he turns over he’s still dreaming, something about Jay serving pie while they helped Lottie out with a new car, and _he_ was wearing navy dress pants, soft fringe, a t-shirt with his tattoos on display…

By instinct, he reaches out to wrap his arms around him.

No one’s there.

Harry opens his eyes and wakes up fully in no time as his hand fumbles with the sheets. With the dream still rolling in the back of his mind, it takes him a few seconds to realise that no, they didn’t get in bed together last night. In fact, he tells himself as his heart hammers in his chest, they haven’t slept together for several months.

With a muffled groan he buries his face in his pillow. He has a situation going on between his legs and no energy to take care of it. However, the blue eyes and loud laugh refuse to disappear from his thoughts, and the dream is still fresh in his memory, so eventually he gives up and wraps a hand around himself, too tired to feel embarrassed about the fact that all he can think of is those pink lips wrapped around his cock instead.

When he’s done, he pulls the duvet over his head to shut the light out and falls back asleep.

“There you are!” Niall’s accent is thicker than last time Harry saw him, a true indication that he has spent some well-deserved time with his family. He waves at Harry, and even though the sunglasses cover most of his face, the bright smile is impossible to miss. His skin is tanned and the roots of his hair are dark brown.

“I thought you’d never show up, mate,” Niall says, “So I’ve ordered pints already,” he continues as stands up from his chair and pulls Harry into the warmest hug. A real, long, proper one, that makes Harry’s heart flutter and goose bumps rise on his skin, because it has been so long and he has missed him so much.

They pull apart and sit down at the table again, a small anonymous open-air café with a view of a square filled with people running around with shopping bags, stopping every now and then to pick up their phones or dig through their back pockets. Harry hasn’t been here before; unlike what everyone thinks he rarely visits the same place multiply times. He’d like to think it’s because he wants to explore the city, when in reality he just wants privacy. Once he’s been spotted at one place, it kind of loses its anonymity.

Niall is already halfway through his beer and Harry’s not late to follow. They order food and more to drink as Niall goes on about what his traveling through Asia was like, and about the record label he has signed with now.

Harry himself have been writing for quite a few months, and it actually feels good. He’s excited about it. As soon as the band stopped, he felt this enormous feeling of needing to get everything off his chest. All of it. So far, he’s proud of what he has written, even though he tries very hard to ignore how every song he finishes has a very clear indication that’s it’s been written about a specific person.

The afternoon rolls around and the temperature drops. They’re almost alone outside, most of the guests have chosen tables inside. Seventeen degrees Celsius is pure winter in California, while home in the UK, matched with sunshine, it’s considered summer. Harry feel himself ease up after his third beer, his head gets into a better space and he lets himself laugh as loudly as Niall does whenever one of them finishes a story.

“I saw Liam before I flew here,” Niall says when they’re done with their food and have chatted about everything except the elephant in the room.

“Yeah?” Harry says and raises an eyebrow, “How was he?” He hasn’t seen Liam since the they were all together. Maybe Niall manged to not pick a side, Liam however, was quite quick on that. Harry doesn’t blame him, but they don’t talk as much anymore.

Niall nods a little and traces his fingertip around the top of the glass, “He was good, got the new house all set up and he and Cheryl have been traveling a bit as well, so he seemed happy. Relaxed even,” he continues and pushes his sunglasses back in his hair. “He has even given up smoking, that’s what I call character development,” Niall chuckles and Harry tries to follow, but his laugh gets stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. They’re way too close to the conversation he knows will come, and it makes him anxious.

The next time the waitress walks by Harry orders them whiskey and Niall just raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he, bless his heart, changes the topic to golf, and starts telling Harry about a golfing trip he’s going on with his brother. Then he asks Harry about what Gemma is up to, and if he’s seen his mum and how Robin is doing.

One of the things Harry loves the most about Niall is that everything is easy with him, nothing is ever hard and he never makes anyone uncomfortable. He’s so laid-back and carefree that Harry almost, _almost_ , believes they’ll let the elephant pass by. A little hope lights up inside him, but it doesn’t last for long.

“I saw him yesterday,” they had just been quiet for a few seconds while Niall had a sip of his whiskey. Now everything shatters on Harry’s inside as he tries to ignore how his heartbeats speed up and a knot forms in his chest. He quickly looks down, clears his throat and shakes his curls out and runs a hand through them before he looks at Niall again.

“Okay,” his voice doesn’t break. He counts that as a win.

Niall hesitates for a moment before he continues. “Yeah, he… he spends most of his time here with the little one, so I thought I’d see him while I was here,” he shrugs, like he needed a reason or even Harry’s permission to see him.

“Niall…” Harry starts off but he has no idea what to say next. All of a sudden there’s a press over his chest that won’t go away no matter how hard he swallows of how much he tries to relax his shoulders.

Niall reaches down beside him and grabs the familiar tote bag with the Rolling Stone logo. Harry didn’t notice it when he arrived, but now Niall hands the back over, and it’s stuffed with clothes, a book and some other of Harry’s belongings. It’s not even things from their house, it’s stuff Harry brought on tour that must have ended up in the wrong suitcase. Harry doesn’t dare to check what else is inside, he just places it beside him on the ground and ignores how weak his _thank you_ sounds.

Niall looks a bit uncomfortable and drowns the rest of his whiskey before he continues.

“I mentioned I was seeing you today and asked if he wanted to come… but he couldn’t, so he just told me to bring that bag to you.” Harry has no idea if Niall really thinks that lie would work. It’s so obviously not true that he _wasn’t able_ to come.

“How is he?” he can’t stop the question before it’s out in the wide.

Niall sighs and suddenly the hesitation in his eyes is gone, instead he just looks tired. “He’s fine, H,” and when Harry doesn’t reply Niall leans back in his chair and gives him a look Harry doesn’t like at all. “Don’t look so sceptical. He really is doing well.”

“But is he–”

“Yes, he looked healthy, and yes he was all happy and loud as he always is… stop with that look. He’s doing great, and you were the one who had been moderating a hiatus from the band in the first place. And from my understanding it was your idea to break up with him too. Personally, I think it was the right decision and it’ll be good for both of you.” Harry never really hears Niall use this voice, he sounds so overprotective, almost like he’s annoyed that Harry asked.

He gets it though, all of them have always been overprotective when it comes to those blue eyes. There was a silent agreement between the four, and later three, of them to keep him safe. It sounds so silly now, because he is the oldest, the leader of the band in many ways, but he’s also the most vulnerable and they all knew that.

Harry’s fingers curl around the empty glass as he ignores his heart pounding in his chest, every beat feels like a kick and makes his entire body ache. Even though he wants nothing more than for him to be happy, hearing Niall say that he’s doing great _hurts_. Everything feels raw and itchy inside him, because by now he thought they’d be back together. When they agreed on a pause, Harry thought _maybe one month, two at max_. Now it’s been four months since he heard a word form him and it has never been this long before. Four months without seeing him, without a call or as much as a single text.

“We haven’t broken up, we’re just on a pause, seeing other people and such. You know he’s the one for me, right?” he hears himself say after a moment of silence. He looks up and realises that Niall’s eyes are filled with pity, and Harry hates it. Because Niall _knows_ , he knows what kind of hell they went through and he knows that even though their relationship hasn’t been great for years they still love each other.

“Listen,” Niall clears his throat, “I used to think so too, trust me. That you were soul mates and inseparable and love conquers all and whatever. But you did nothing but hurt each other for the last two years…”

“Don’t,” Harry feels the panic rise in his chest, it’s too much.

“Harry, stop it now. You did. I don’t know what you told each other, but the relationship you two had wasn’t even a proper relationship, it was just a stress-relief and sex– yes it was, you know I’m right. It was just as awfully unhealthy as the rest of the atmosphere in the band and look where it put you!” he gestures towards the dumb tote bag beside Harry. “He knocked someone up when he was drunk and you got high and proved the media right about sleeping with women twice your age. And don’t even get me started on that ‘but the last six months we were so great’. We both know that the ‘I love you’s and stupid tattoos didn’t save you because then he’d be here right now.”

When he’s done his voice hangs in the air, making the air thick and unbreathable, it crawls down Harry’s throat and feeds the knot, it grows in his chest until it’s just a ball filled with anxiety. His hands tremble so he hides them in his lap, fisting them so Niall can’t see. All of a sudden there’s a burning behind his eyes, idiotic tears wanting to escape but Harry won’t go there, he won’t let that happen. He hasn’t let a single tear slip in four months and he won’t start now.

Niall is right though, and Harry hates him for it. He hates him for it because all the songs Harry has written are filled with proof of it. Of breaking up and being on pauses and not recognising himself and then coming back to each other and feeling like home for a while and fooling themselves that this time would be different, this time they could be together without the pressure being too much.

When the band broke up Harry had told him that they needed a real pause. No calling, no texting, no seeing each other and “accidently” ending up in bed together again just because there was no other person there who knew how to make it good.

_“It will be easier now, when we’re not in the band anymore.”_

Just a short pause. A break. A chance to find themselves as individuals.

A short break.

It was all it was supposed to be.

“I just…” Harry rubs his eyes and wishes his glass of whiskey would refill itself. “I just thought he’d have called by now, you know? I didn’t mean… four months,” he swallows hard, “I miss him.”

Niall doesn’t know, he doesn’t get it, but he nods and his eyes are so sad that Harry has to look away.

The next day he wakes up, still drunk, and beside him a person with soft, short, brown hair and small body. He almost says his name.

Later, when he has let the girl out and picked himself up, he goes on a long walk through the hiking lanes by his house.

When he comes back, his head’s still throbbing, and he sits down at the dining table with his guitar resting in his lap and the brown Moleskine notebook open in front of him. He flips to the next empty page and scribbles down the first words that pops up in his head.

In just a few weeks he’ll start filming for Dunkirk, and he has no idea where he’ll be mentally once he’s cut his hair off and gone through all of that. For now though, he has his music, he has his friends. It’s a start.

It hurts, as he flips through the journal and reads the lyrics to his old songs, lyrics he never showed anyone but him.

It hurts, and he reads the lyrics to his news songs, songs he’s showed everyone _but him_. It hurts, and he misses him. And he wants nothing more than for him to call and say that he’s sorry too.

Harry is okay, though.

He will be alright.


	5. fine line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra disclaimer:   
> This is a hard chapter. It takes place around the time Louis’ mum was ill and the year after. It’s sad, it’s ugly, it’s filled with angst, it contains extremely heavy emotions. It was hard to write; for so long this was the reason I debated whether or not I should publish at all.   
> I want to make it extra clear that I do not want in any way this to be seen as a speculation of their grief, and I’ve tried my best to shift focus away from it. I’ve tried my best to be respectful. The same goes for the rest of the fanfiction. And yet again: this is fiction, after all.  
> Rest in peace Johannah, you’ll forever be missed <3

**PART TWO**

_**FINE LINE** _

_Louis’ point of view:_ _Fearless_

_July 2016, Doncaster_

“So… I’ll see you next month maybe,” Harry says, and Louis nods a little, not really looking up from his phone where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Harry holds back a sigh, it’s been like this for a little while now. He doesn’t really know why he’s doing this, why he keeps showing up the second Lottie or Jay or even Louis texts him and asks for help. Lottie is the one who walks him to the door, not Louis.

“Thank you,” she says as Harry bends down and ties his shoes. He straightens up and holds his arms out, pulling her into his chest.

“I honestly don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Harry admits, “ _He_ clearly doesn’t need me.”

“He does,” Lottie interrupts immediately, pulling away so she can look at him. “You might not believe it, but when you’re here he’s at least not being bitchy. Even if he’s just quiet towards you, he’s… he’s not completely losing it at least.”

“That’s so unfair, to all of you.”

Lottie is quiet for a moment before she speaks again, “I know, H,” she sounds so tired. Harry pulls her into another hug.

“Call me anytime, okay?” he says softly in her ear and presses a kiss to the side of her head.

As she pulls away, she says, “Yeah of course. I’ll… I’ll try talking with him, okay?”

“Don’t bother,” the last thing Harry wants is his own stupid feelings to be in the centre of attention when it’s not even the slightest bit as important as all of the other things going on. “You got enough on your mind,” he tells her, and he really means it, “Take care, okay? And I’ll see you around,” he says as he pushes the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder, trying hard to ignore the enormous uneasy feeling in his stomach. Guilt? Anxiety? He can’t really place it.

His stomach still turns when he thinks about the voice mail he got in May. By then they hadn’t talked with each other since the last day with the band. Louis’ voice had been panicky and high pitched, from the first word Harry had known that something was terribly wrong. _H, can you please come, mum she’s… fuck I don’t know, she’s been feeling ill for so long, I- please, I don’t… I just- fuck_. Harry had been in filming in a big swimming pool all day, he was exhausted when he finally turned on his phone hours after Louis had called him.

He drove to Doncaster Hospital that night. He stayed with them, drove back and forth between the house and the hospital, talked with the doctors, went out and bought food for them all. And since then, he has come to Doncaster whenever they needed him. Harry doesn’t see Louis much, mostly just when he drops off clean clothes or shaving cream and cigarettes at the hospital. They don’t really talk; Louis updates him on the situation as he lights a cigarette and closes his eyes.

Harry tries not to blame him, he really does. But it’s _hard._ It’s a really fucking shitty situation, and he selfishly wishes Louis would recognise Harry being there for him.

He calls out a last goodbye to the Tomlinson family before opening the door and stepping outside. Though, he has barely closed the door behind him before it opens again. Thinking it must be Lottie who forgot to tell him something, he turns around. Much to his surprise, it’s Louis.

“Harry?” he asks, and his eyes are tired, so tired. Harry gets an impulse to carry him to bed and curl up with him and have him sleep until the bags under his eyes disappears.

“Yeah, you alright?” he barely gets the words out before Louis says,

“Can I come?”

“What?”

Louis actually _blushes_ and looks away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have… forget about it, I just…” he’s about to close the door again but Harry puts his foot in the way.

“Louis,” he tries to keep his voice as steady as he possibly can, heart hammering in his chest, “Of course I can give you a ride to London. I thought you didn’t want to be alone in your house?” he says as careful as he can, but Louis shakes his head.

“No, can I like, come with you?” he lets go of the door handle and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “I could really need a distraction.”

“I’m going to France tomorrow,” Harry says bluntly.

“I know.”

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ Louis to come with him, of course he wants that, but they haven’t had a proper conversation in _months_ , Harry doesn’t know what changed his mind.

“I…”

“You know what? Just forget about it, it was a stupid impulse, sorry for taking up your time,” he begins closing the door again but Harry keeps his foot in the way.

“Of course you can,” Harry says and opens up the door and gets inside the hall again, toeing off his shoes. Louis hesitates as Harry replaces his bag on the floor. “I’ll hang out with Lottie as I wait for you to pack up stuff, okay?” he says softly, ignoring how hard his heart is beating. Without waiting for a reply, he walks back into the living room. As he hears Louis going upstairs, he lets out a shaky sigh.

Lottie looks up from her phone when Harry re-enters the living room.

“What’s up?” she asks as Doris, who has been driving around in her little kick-car, shouts happily when she sees Harry and kicks her legs to get closer to him. Harry bends down to pick her up.

“Footie! Footie! Footie!” she laughs, that’s one of the few words she knows, and she knows it really well.

“He’s coming with me to France,” Harry says as Lottie gets up from the sofa and opens the door to the backyard. He doesn’t quite believe his own words, it feels like he’s lying.

“Oh,” she says and picks up a soft ball from the grass and hands it to Harry, who sets Doris down and rolls the ball to her.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks her carefully. She’s so young, only turning eighteen in a month. Doris kicks the ball and it goes the completely wrong direction and Harry jogs over to pick it up.

Lottie nods, “Yeah of course,” she says and smiles down at Doris who loses her balance when she tries to kick the ball again. She ends up with her bum in the grass, laughing. “Actually, I think it’ll be good for him to get away for a bit,” Lottie continues, “He spends all days with mum and... he has this huge project coming up soon, I don’t know if he’s told you about it, it’s with Steve Aoki, Anyway, I know mum’s worried he’s going to drop out of it.”

Harry feels a pang in his chest.

Louis hasn’t told him. A project with Steve Aoki.

Lottie must see it on his face how upset it makes him, because she hesitates for a moment.

“I’m really sorry, H. You deserve better than this.”

He shakes his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He’s saved by Phoebe who comes out with Ernie in her arms, and he spends the upcoming ten minutes kicking the soft ball back and forth between the twins until Louis appears between the glass door, ready to leave.

_July 2016, Dunkerque_

Louis stays with Harry for four days. That’s the longest they’ve been together since the band. Harry doesn’t see him much during the days, but he knows Louis hangs out around on the set or goes for long walks. It’s Normandy after all, far away from cities and spotlights and people recognising him.

On the third night they drink beers on the balcony of Harry’s hotel room. They talk old memories, about the boys, about the tours, about weird interviews they’ve had and people they’ve met over the years. All of this while carefully not mentioning any memory just the two of them share. It’s nice, Harry decides, as Louis laughs at a story he just told. It feels like them for the very first time in a long, long time. When they say good night, before Louis goes back to his own room, Harry takes a chance and holds his arms out for a hug, and Louis sinks into it. He tries to ignore how different this hug feels from the last they shared. He knows his body has changed drastically over the last months in preparation for the movie. But this, having Louis pressed up against him, in a way that feels a little bit unfamiliar, is the ultimate proof of how much time has passed. Louis’ hands fists Harry’s shirt as he buries his face in Harry’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s entire body aches from filming for three full days. He’s bruised all over, every single muscle in his body feels like it’s been run over by a train. Still, his heart might hurt the most.

He doesn’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to the top of Louis’ head, and they stay like that for a long time.

Louis flies back to London the next morning.

They see each other two more times that fall.

_March 2017, London_

He holds his breath as he texts him.

_Are you home?_

After a few moments, he adds,

_London home, I mean_

Louis opens his text and doesn’t reply for a good fifteen minutes. Harry’s palms are sweaty when the response finally comes.

_yeh_

He lets out his breath and blinks a few times. There’s a burning behind his eyes he can’t deal with right now. He fixes his hair in his bathroom, pulls on jeans and a hoodie, changes out of it and pulls on another hoodie. Changes out of that again because he feels stupid for changing clothes.

His phone rings. Camille.

He checks the time and realises that it’s almost noon in LA, which means that she must have a lunch break at the shoot she told him she was doing today. He lets it go to voice mail. They have only been seeing each other for about two months, but he’s really into her, believes he can grow to love her even. She’s different from everything else he’s experienced. But now is not the time.

He can’t come up with more reasons to delay himself any further, so he grabs his keys and the bottle of rum he bought this afternoon before he heads out.

As they said their goodbyes after the funeral, Harry told Louis to _please call me if you need anything_. He was scared of leaving him alone, felt like he shouldn’t. Gemma drove the car back to London; Harry had been way too anxious to focus. Since then, they haven’t really talked at all. Louis barely says anything as Harry calls, doesn’t even answer most of the times, and every time Harry sends a text, he has to wait two days for a reply. He doesn’t push, though, he wants to give him space, to give him time. But _fuck it_ , Harry is grieving too. A grief that doesn’t fit into the dynamics anymore, a grief he’s not really allowed to have because he’s not a part of that family the way he once was.

A couple of days after the x Factor performance, Louis had made it quite clear that he didn’t want anything to do with Harry. It was stupid, maybe even selfish, but Harry had really thought that, after this, they would fight through it together. Maybe everything was shit but they could at least have each other, Louis could have him, Harry. They could be them again. Apparently, Louis didn’t think the same.

_“Harry for fuck’s sake, you have an entire album finished and a tour planned. I barely know who I am and the last thing I need right now is to be all messed up with you.”_

Harry thought that was absolutely irrational because surely Louis needed him now more than ever. Hadn’t the two of them had a long enough break?

_“Can’t you just take a fucking hint? I don’t want you here.”_

This was also the day Louis told him that Eleanor would be working for him again. He had hired her to take care of his social media, and she would also be his beard again.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to ask why, but since then, he feels like he has let him down.

That was three months ago, and now, the release date for his debut single is just a few weeks away. Then there is one month until album release. Then fall tour. A busy time in ahead of him. All of his friends and family have heard the album. Everyone has loved it, told him how proud they are. And still, Harry knows exactly why he cannot take their word for it. He knows exactly why it feels like their praise goes right through him.

Because Louis hasn’t heard the album.

Harry always thought, that when he finally released his solo music, Louis would be by his side. All the other times Harry wrote anything, no matter if it was for the band or not, Louis listened to it. He has always been Harry’s biggest fan and best critic at the same time. Louis knows how to fix a song that feels like it’s missing something, he _knows_ how to make it sound like _Harry_ wants it to sound.

So now, when it’s all done, Harry literally can’t bear the fact that in a few weeks the album will be out everywhere but if Louis wants to listen, he has to do it through _Spotify_.

He presses the bell and waits to be let in. A long time passes and nothing happens. Louis can probably see him on the security cameras, and it makes him feel exposed. Determined to at least talk with him though, he presses the bell again and the gates _finally_ open up for him.

Louis waits for him at the door. He looks tired, small, wearing a hoodie big enough to fit two of him in it. All of Harry’s nervousness disappears and before he knows it, he has closed the space between them and hugged Louis to his chest.

Louis stays still for a split moment before he sighs a little and sinks into the hug.

“What are you even doing here,” he mumbles into Harry’s shoulder.

“I want to play my songs for you,” he says and Louis freezes. “… if you want to, I mean,” he adds carefully and lets go of the hug. Louis doesn’t look at him when they break apart, but he nods and moves so Harry can pull off his jacket and shoes.

“Yeah, come on, I’d love to,” he says after a minute and smiles at him. It’s not a smile that quite reaches his eyes, but Harry will take it. He grabs the bottle of rum from Harry’s hand and huffs, “Let’s start on this first though, we’ll need it.”

With the music playing directly from Harry’s phone, they listen to it track by track lying beside each other on Louis’ kitchen floor, shoulders’ touching, beside them the bottle already half-empty.

When the last lines of _From the Dining Table_ have faded, neither of them bothers hiding their tears and Louis turns to his side and curls his body up against Harry’s. Warmth sips from Louis’ body and Harry’s heartbeats are steady for the first time in what feels like forever. Familiar fingers curl around his wrist and he holds onto it tightly. When _Meet Me in the Hallway_ starts playing again the tiniest sob slips past Louis’ lips. Harry stays quiet, shuffles a little so they can be closer, lets his fingers slip between Louis’.

“Did you write it about me?” Louis asks, when the album has finished the second time, his voice so low Harry barely hears it.

“Yeah… or like…” Harry turns to his side as well and their eyes meet. Louis’ eyes are a little red and his neck is flushed red. Harry himself feels exposed when he looks at him. “About us, I guess,” he says finally.

Louis nods and chews on his lip. Even though Louis is obviously affected by the songs, Harry still has a hard time reading him.

“I like the idea of our story being told through songs,” Louis says finally, and Harry’s heartbeats pick up in his chest. “It’s quite fitting.”

“Yeah, I’d like to think so too,” Harry says and can’t help but reach up and run his fingers through Louis’ fringe. His hair is so short nowadays, Harry likes is better when he can thread his fingers through it. Years ago, when he first wanted to grow his hair out but was scared to do so, Louis made a bet that he could go longer than Harry without cutting his hair. Lou was absolutely furious with both of them, muttering that they would be a better fit in _the Goblet of Fire_ than in a boyband, and that she should pack her bags already because she ‘would not take credit for their hairs anymore’, which only put more fuel to Louis’ fire. He went longer without a haircut than anyone thought he ever would. Harry still won though. Louis said that he wanted to be the one to cut it off when Harry finally donated it, but when that time rolled around, they weren’t really on speaking terms and even less a couple.

Louis’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into Harry’s touch a little. Apart from that time Louis came with him to France when he was filming, Harry doesn’t think they have been alone together for this long since the night of their breakup. Right now, laying on Louis’ kitchen floor, he wonders how much more rum he’d need to drink to think of Camille instead.

“I think Sweet Creature is my favourite,” Louis whispers, and the relief in Harry’s chest is immediate. He didn’t know he needed to hear that as much as he did. His entire chest swells with pride, with warmth. Love.

He believes it’s Louis who kisses him first. He’s not sure though, but they’re kissing and Louis grabs the front of Harry’s hoodie and pulls him in closer. Harry kisses him back, slips one leg between Louis’ and rolls them over so Louis is on top of him. He cups Louis’ neck and pulls him back down for a deeper kiss the second Louis starts pulling away. His lips and tongue are almost painfully familiar against Harry’s; it makes him all dizzy and he knows it has nothing to do with the alcohol running through his veins.

“H…” Louis mumbles against his lips but Harry presses their bodies closer, grinds up a little against Louis.

“Don’t ruin this, please,” his words come out in a whimper, he feels almost pathetic.

“We can’t date again,” Louis says but he keeps kissing Harry, moves his lips down Harry’s jaw and grinds his hips down a little, Harry’s eyes roll back. Louis’ words say one thing and his body so obviously says the opposite. “I don’t want it.”

Harry closes his eyes. He knows. He knows the timing is shit. Louis is _grieving_ and Harry is going to start working again for real now. Album. Shows. Promo. Tour. Them getting together again wasn’t the goal of tonight.

And yet.

“I know I know,” he assures and slips one hand under Louis’ hoodie and splays his fingers over the small of his back. Skin against skin. It makes him lightheaded. “Fuck, I… can’t we just be? No words, no fight, no commitment. I just…” he knows he’s asking for too much, _way_ too much. He shouldn’t be here in the first place, should have left when they had finished listening to the songs. He doesn’t really know who he is trying to convince though, both of them knew exactly what would happen tonight.

Louis looks like he’s on the verge on tears again and Harry pulls him back down and kisses him deeper, sweeter, and Louis melts against him.

“You’re okay,” he whispers against his lips, rolls them over again and Louis clings to him, thighs wrapped around Harry’s hips. “I promise. We’ll be alright,” he murmurs and presses soft kisses to the high of Louis’ cheekbones. Louis nods and let out a shaky breath, his hands card through Harry’s hair and he hides his face in Harry’s shoulder when Harry lifts them up like that.

Getting up on his feet and carrying Louis upstairs goes smother than he thought. Actually, it’s _way_ easier than it should be, than it _ever_ has been.

Maybe it’s because he’s working out so much more now, Harry thinks to himself as he kicks the door to the bedroom open and Louis kisses him again, hard and desperate. Maybe it’s because he can physically see the size difference between them now, his shoulders obviously so much broader than Louis’. Maybe it’s because Harry’s body has changed a lot ever since he started working out for Dunkirk, maybe it’s because he’s been boxing a lot the last couple of weeks, maybe it’s just because they haven’t been like this for over a year.

Maybe maybe maybe. He shakes it off, places Louis on the bed, gets in between his legs and connects their lips again.

Kissing Louis has always been as natural as breathing.

They undress each other with hurried movements, getting his hands on Louis’ skin is like being burned, he’s hot all over and can’t wait to touch, to feel, to taste, to _hear_ , oh he has missed the sounds of _them_.

When they are out of their clothes Harry _sees_ and he _knows_ things aren’t okay, he’s not fucking stupid, he’s so well aware of Louis’ patterns. But he can’t start a fight, not now, it’s not his place, he doesn’t want to ruin this. It would be a disaster, Louis would get too upset, they would scream and shout and say things both of them regret.

He knows he’s being selfish. And he’s not exactly proud of it.

Spreading Louis open always fills his heart with warmth; his body knows exactly how to move to make them both feel good, like no time has passed between them. He presses kisses over Louis’ chest, sucks his nipple into his month, gets goose bumps from the way Louis sounds, small whimpers leaving his lips as he tries to fuck himself on Harry’s fingers.

“Easy, tiger, always so impatient,” he chuckles and Louis huffs.

“Shut it, you always move so fucking slow, you– _ah_ ,” he’s cut off because the next time Harry pushes his fingers in, he adds a third one and curls them up in the way he knows how and finds Louis’ prostate.

“You were saying?” he asks and ducks his head down so he can suck Louis’ cock into his month. Louis whimpers and throws an arm over his eyes, hips moving upwards to try to get Harry to move.

“Fuck me,” Louis breathes out and Harry takes him all the way down once before he pulls back.

“Working on it, sunshine,” he mumbles and pulls his fingers out. He rolls on a condom and pushes Louis’ knees up so he can guide himself in and – fuck. It really has been a long time.

“Fucking hell,” Harry more moans than actually speak as he bottoms out and Louis laughs at him. He’s quiet the second Harry pulls back and thrusts back in though. Instead of laughter soft whimpers fall from Louis’ lips as Harry starts to pick up a bit of a rhythm. He pushes Louis’ knees up higher, gets one over his shoulder and Louis throws his head back when the angle changes.

Louis tangles his hand in Harry’s hair and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s more tongue and saliva than actual kissing, but it feels so good something curls in Harry’s belly. He pulls back a little and braces himself with his hands placed on either side of Louis’ ribcage so he can fuck into him harder. Louis’ other hand comes and curls around Harry’s bicep, fingertips pressing firmly into Harry’s muscles.

They know each other so well it doesn’t take long for them to reach climax after that. Louis usually comes first and when he does, he’s always loud, and has the longest aftershocks, wants it to keep going as long as possible. Sometimes, when they were still a thing, Harry could continue after Louis had come, the oversensitivity turned Louis on even more, and if they were careful Louis could get hard after minutes. It was good times.

This occasion is not one of those, and after, when they lay beside each other, sharing a joint between them, he wonders if they will ever have that kind of sex again.

He turns to his side and looks at Louis playing with the joint and suddenly he realises that this is all they have ever done. When talking has been necessary they have gone to bed instead. They have had enough make up (and break up) sex that could last them a lifetime. There have literally been times when they had been shouting at each other in front of half their crew and then gone to bed and taken all the anger out between the sheets. From the start they were given a very fine line for their love, and they didn’t have much to work with. Too much love caged up. Key thrown away god knows where. It fucking killed them.

It was all fucked up in so many ways.

“You’ll ger all wrinkly before thirty if you don’t do something about that,” Louis says suddenly and he’s looking at Harry’s forehead.

Harry frowns, “What d’you mean?”

Louis laughs softly and reaches to the bedside table to put out the joint before takes Harry’s face in his hands and rubs one of his thumbs between Harry’s eyebrows. Harry feels the muscles in his face relax and he sighs a little.

“Being all in deep thoughts. Thinking does no good for your beauty,” Louis hums and strokes his thumb across Harry’s cheekbones.

“Marry me?” he whispers, because he’s gone for him, and he’s a little high. He knows what the answer is going to be anyway, so it doesn’t make much difference.

Sometimes flashes in Louis’ eyes; sadness, guilt maybe, Harry doesn’t quite catch it.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Louis replies and kisses him again.

Harry makes them breakfast the next morning before both of them need to get going, back to the studio for Louis’ part, rehearsals for Harry’s. They are alright when they say goodbye, no hard feelings. Louis even kisses Harry, completely sober, and Harry takes everything he can get. They will be alright.

They don’t see each other more after that. Harry goes on tour and hears Louis talk about him in interviews when Dunkirk airs. It makes his heart flutter in his chest, he has to hide his smile when he sees it, and then he finds himself with wandering thoughts – because what if?

The melancholy is almost ironic, because at the same time, he goes home to someone else, someone he starts to grow very different feelings for. It’s the first person he feels like he has chosen to love, the first love he is completely allowed to feel.

The first love in his life that didn’t come with a very high price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra song to go with this chapter. 7 by Catfish and the Bottlemen, Louis covered it on his tour.


	6. to be falling: so lonely

**_TO BE FALLING: SO LONELY_ **

_Louis’ point of view: Miss You_

_October 2017, Los Angeles_

“Harry, you there? Right, so…” his voice sounds raspier than usual over the phone. It’s been way too long since he heard his voice. He’s drunk, so obviously drunk that everyone and their mother can hear it. Harry stares at his phone where it’s laying on the coffee table with speaker mode on.

“I just… fuck, babe, I miss you, like, a lot? Shit– I…” the voice trails off again, something’s rustles in the background, like he’s looking for something, but too late, Harry’s heart has already dropped dead in his chest.

“Oh, he’s got to be joking,” Camille huffs a little and pours another glass of wine for herself. It’s her third today, and it’s only getting close to five pm.

“Are you with someone?” Louis says, his voice a lot clearer. When Harry doesn’t reply, Louis huffs. He gives himself away.

“Yeah, I am,” Harry finally replies, and Camille rolls her eyes. He wishes he hadn’t asked her to pick up his phone, he wishes he hadn’t put Louis simply under ‘L’ in his contacts, he wishes that she hadn’t put him on speaker.

And he really wishes she wouldn’t have that look on her face.

“Alright, yeah I just… I’m kind of serious though, H, like, don’t you think… fuck I don’t know, it’s been hella long now, I thought we’d have worked it out by now, don’t you?”

Harry’s throat is completely dry.

“I… Louis…” it feels like all of his senses had gone into panic mode, he cannot move, cannot speak. Fuck this. Fuck Louis for calling him after months and months without a single word. It was _Louis_ who didn’t want him. Harry was there, just less than a year ago and wanted it and _begged_ for them to be together again.

His eyes flicker to Camille, she has a deep frown on her face as she looks at him, then down at the phone on the coffee table.

“I just… wait, fuck it, hold on,” suddenly there is a lot of noises in the background, and he can work out the music beats. Is he at a party? At a club? Harry has no idea where or with whom Louis hangs out these days. He has made an active choice to not know that.

“Can’t you just hang up on him?” Camille sighs and Harry looks at her again. She has already drowned half her glass. She looks tired, her eyes are filled with sadness, and somehow Harry still finds her so beautiful. His heart sinks.

“Louis, are you okay?” Harry tries and there are more noises for a few moments before it sounds like a door is shut and Louis is back.

“What do you think?” he huffs out. Before Harry has a chance to reply, he continues, “It’s arse A.M. and I’m at this stupid club Oli dragged me to and you would fucking hate it here and because of that I fucking hate it and all I can fucking think about nowadays is you and it pisses me off and I just really… really…”

“Don’t say it,” Harry panics, Camille sits down beside him on the sofa and downs the rest of her drink. She reaches for the phone and picks it up. Harry’s first instinct is to grab it from her, he gets the urge to _wrestle her_ just to get the phone out of her hand.

“Don’t say what exactly? It’s not like this is news for you,” Louis continues, “Please talk to me, H, baby, I just…”

He sits completely numb.

“Okay, Louis,” Camille says, her voice _way_ too soft, “Time for you to hang up now? For everyone’s well-being please delete this number, okay, sweetheart?”

For a split second, Harry hears Louis suck in his breath.

And then she hangs up.

Everything is way too quiet after that.

Air’s thick.

Harry cannot breathe. His mind is racing, and he just stares at Camille. Actually, he feels like he’s on his way to having a panic attack.

“What… why–”

“Oh, for real? Come on, in what world did he have the right?” the sadness in her eyes is gone, replaced with annoyance, maybe anger even.

“Yeah, but like, it’s Louis…”

“Does that really make any difference?” she pulls back a bit on the sofa and actually stares him down. “You guys broke up _two years ago_ ,” she pushes her hair out of her face. She always does that, fixes her hair when she gets annoyed or nervous. “It’s not normal behaviour.”

Harry swallows, fists his hands to keep them from shaking. His head is spinning, Louis’ voice is still ringing in his ears. “You know it’s a bit different with him and me.”

“You still shouldn’t encourage him,” she snaps him off. And like, he knows she’s not wrong.

He has never told her much about him and Louis, not more than what was necessary. He had to tell her some of it because there were rumours, and all their friends and lots of people in the industry knew, and the two of them owned multiple properties together over the years. But he has always assured her that it was over after the band, that they hadn’t seen each other more than a handful of times since, that they kept very sporadic contact. He has overdone it a little; how hard their relationship had been, how much they were fighting the last years, how frustrated he was with everything, how much he wanted to get away from the band. He has exaggerated how happy he was to get out of that unhealthy relationship because it allowed him to really find himself. He has absolutely not told her that he slept with Louis two months after he started dating her.

“I have literally not spoken to him in months,” he tries, ignores how defensive he sounds.

Camille huffs, almost like she holds back an eyeroll. “Yeah sure, but that just makes it weirder that he called you _now_ , and that he has the audacity to say stuff like that, like there was a possibility of the two of you ever getting back together.”

Harry gets up from the couch and goes over to the big windows. He suddenly can’t sit near her. His heart is hammering in his chest.

Harry is not proud of it, but he still thinks about it – _him_ – sometimes. How, when he visualises his future, he hasn’t been able to see Camille in it. He has tried so _hard,_ but he has never been able to picture the two of them ever buying a house together, much less having kids. No matter how wholeheartedly he loves her – because he _does_ – when he thinks about her walking down the aisle he is never in the picture. And when he thinks about his own wedding, she is in the audience.

“Harry, are you even listening to me?”

He feels sick.

“It’s just a drunk call, can we drop it?” he manages.

“Not until you stop looking like someone died,” she says. “Like what, did you _enjoy_ that call? It was miserable,” she comes over to him, lays her hand on his arm and before Harry knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling away from her.

“Would you blame me?”

She looks like he punched her.

“ _What_?”

“Would you blame me?” Harry is _dumb_ , he’s out of his fucking mind. “I was a boy, I was _sixteen_ when we got together, he’s the only one I had loved before I met you. Would you blame me if I missed him?”

“But you’re _over_ him,” she sounds desperate, just as desperate as Harry feels. “ _We_ love each other.”

“We do, I know, but I just,” he’s fumbling after words, but all he finds in his head is Louis’ voice playing on repeat over and over again. He feels his heartbeats in his throat, all he wants is to pick up his phone again and call him back. Hear him say it again. _I thought we’d have worked it out by now, don’t you?_

Camille looks like she’s going to cry.

“Are you really serious right now?” Harry can’t look at her. He can’t fucking look at her. His blood is pumping in his ears; a panic attack is most definitely on its way, he can feel it, the numbness in his fingers, the press over his chest.

“You haven’t seen him _in a year_ ,” her voice is harsh, but he knows she is trying to hide her sadness behind it all. He knows her well enough by now, they have been together for almost nine months.

He stays quiet, looks away.

“Harry?”

Suddenly it’s way too quiet in the room. None of them say anything for long, pressing moments, Camille just looks at him.

“When?” she asks, way too quiet, the anger in her voice is gone.

He should lie. A white little lie. It’s easy. It should be easy. Except… he has never been good at lying when it comes to Louis. He barely managed to keep it a secret when he was asked about it in interviews, when total strangers confronted him. Lying about Louis to Camille when asked about it directly? He cannot do it.

“Right before promo for Sign of the Times started,” his voice doesn’t sound like his own. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

They’re both using way too calm voices for this. The air in the room feels exactly like it does before a big thunderstorm is about to arrive.

“I don’t have to tell you when I see my friends,” he tries. 

“I think you do when ‘the friend’ is one of your exes. We had been together for _months_ by then,” her hand is still grabbing her wine glass, she’s holding it hard enough it looks like it might break.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He feels like a coward.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Of all the things she could have asked, Harry didn’t think she would ask that. He thought she trusted him, that she was sure that he was committed to her and her only. And at the same time, because the answer is yes to that question, how could he ever blame her?

Camille face drops.

He feels like he’s going to throw up. His hands start to shake, his vision goes dizzy. All he can see is Camille and she’s _crying_ and he doesn’t want her to cry so he tries reaching for her but she pushes him away and hides her face in her hands and her shoulders shake and Harry’s entire body is going to collapse.

“Camille, please… it didn’t…” _mean anything_ , he wants to say. But he can’t. He hates himself. “I promise it was a misstep, it was one time and I haven’t spoken to him since. Today was the first time, we have no contact.”

He tries to grasp onto something, tries to hold onto _anything_ , but Camille just shakes her head and wipes her tears. It looks like all the anger inside her is gone, like she has completely lost it, she cries and backs away and Harry wants to follow but for some reason his feet are frozen to the ground.

The looks she gives him when their eyes finally meet again is filled with disgust.

“You know what, fuck this, sort your fucking mind out, Harry,” shakes her head and leaves the room. He doesn’t hear the door slam shut after her, but he sees her car driving away.

Not once does he think of following her.

He dreams of both of them. They are both pulling him in different directions, but when he tries to reach after either of them, they turn into fog, disappear in front of him. He fumbles through the dark, hears their laughter mixed together. He calls her name; he calls his name. No one responses.

He wakes up in his bed alone, shaking all over and freezing from sweating through his sheets.

He calls her.

He calls and he calls, and he calls. And she picks up, and they talk, and they make up, and she says she forgives him, and for a little while things are okay, and then something goes wrong, and suddenly it’s like all of the cracks that have ever been in their relationship are so visible now, more visible than ever before. They fight about Louis but also about everything else that’s been building up over the months.

Not once does Harry say he’s sorry about Louis. He can’t bring himself to say it. Instead he gets insanely jealous for absolutely no reason whenever Louis’ name comes up in a fight. _(“How can it not bother you that half of your fans think you are in love with him? Why don’t you just deny it? How to you think I feel about that?” “Why do you care what people think?” “Like you don’t? Don’t fucking bullshit me, you care more than you’d like to admit.”)_ He feels like he’s nineteen again; back then he was so protective and could get jealous if someone as much as looked at Louis.

He defends him, Louis, in front of Camille, his girlfriend, who is the first love he has ever had as an adult, the first love he has ever felt that was free, that didn’t come with a price, that wasn’t a sacrifice. And he cheated on her.

He fucking despises himself.

It keeps going like that for a little while. They make some public appearances. They try to be okay. One night when they go to bed, Harry lays beside her and he can’t help but wonder if he is unable to love properly, no matter who it is.

They break up in December. Much to Harry’s despair it happens to be the day after Louis releases _Miss You_. Harry’s PR team decide to delay their breakup announcement for almost half a year, they had just confirmed their relationship after all. They both cry when they say their goodbyes; laying together on the sofa, wrapped up in each other, and everything feels completely shit.

He knows that she tries to not blame him. She tries to understand, and it just makes him feel even worse. So many times, he has gone over it in his head by now, has tried to find another way, maybe if he tried a little harder? Deep in his heart though, no matter how much he can grow to love her, he knows it’s not right. She knows it’s not right. And it is because of a fact neither of them can do anything about. They decide to be friends. Real friends. They will find each other again, somewhere else, and they will have a beautiful friendship. Harry desperately tells himself that this is enough.

Tour gets closer and rehearsals start, he gets a lot busier, it keeps his mind off everything. He misses her. He misses her like crazy. Wants to talk to her, kiss her, be close. He feels lonely all the damn time. And at the same time, no matter how much he misses her, no matter how fucking lonely and dumb and sad he feels.

He can’t bring himself to say sorry.


	7. golden

**_GOLDEN_ **

_Louis’ point of view: Defenceless, Habit & Too Young _

_11.37 PM, December 24 th, 2017, Holmes Chapel _

“Am I stupid?”

Gemma doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Took you long enough to figure that one out,” she huffs a little. When Harry doesn’t reply she looks up and her face shifts when she realises that he’s not trying to make a joke. “No, Harry, of course not, what do you mean?”

Harry closes his eyes where he lays in front of the fire, arms and legs spread out wide. He has decided to not move for a century, at least.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he says instead, and hears Gemma move from where she was sat in the armchair. A minute or two passes and she sits down beside him, her knees touching Harry’s thigh as she carefully places a way too big cup of what he believes is mulled wine on his chest.

“Correct,” she replies and moves a little when Harry sits up as well. Both of them stare into the fire, and Harry rests his head on her shoulder. His head is dizzy from all the wine and whiskey they had tonight. Gemma had made a bet that she could easily drink more than him and still win a game of Scrabble. She was not wrong. Anne had gone to sleep hours ago, shaking her head at them. Now all of his muscles are a little numb in a way that only alcohol does to the body. Sitting on the floor he feels completely fine, though he’s pretty sure he would fall over if he tried standing up.

“I haven’t called him,” he confesses after a few minutes. Gemma stays quiet, her hand on his knee is warm. Harry hesitates for a moment, “It’s the first time I haven’t told him happy birthday.”

“Do you have a good enough reason for that or are you just avoiding responsibility?” Gemma asks, and it stings a bit, hearing her say it like that. That’s exactly why Harry had told her. She always calls him out on his bullshit.

He shrugs, “I haven’t spoken to him since he drunk called me in October.”

“So, it is about avoiding responsibility then,” Gemma moves her hand and wraps her arm around Harry’s shoulders and her fingers start carding through his hair. He closes his eyes.

“I guess,” he sighs, “So… Am I stupid?”

Gemma stays quiet for a long time. Harry ignores the itching pain in his chest, ignores how the back of his throat feels dry, how his heart is completely numb. He suddenly feels way drunker.

“I love you, H,” Gemma finally says, and Harry keeps his eyes closed as he listens to her, “And like… I know that you’re going through a tough time right now, and that really sucks. But I also think it says a lot that it’s not Camille we’re talking about…” she pauses, “and I think that we both know that you need to call him or else you will beat yourself up about it.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath, there’s a burning behind his eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s tired or because of something else.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re probably right,” he sighs.

Gemma tilts her head to the side and presses a kiss to Harry’s temple. She slowly untangles herself form him and runs a hand through his curls.

“I’ll go to bed, okay? Don’t forget to blow out the candles,” they say their goodnights and she picks up her sweater from the sofa. When she’s almost out the door to the hallway Harry hears himself calling her.

“Gems?” she turns around.

“Yeah?”

“Just… I do love her, just so you know,” he feels pathetic, “She hasn’t been like… a substitute or anything… for him. It was never like that.”

Gemma smiles at him, “I know, H.”

Harry swallows, “I never meant to be so dependent on him,” his words are out before he can stop them, and he feels ashamed, small, of admitting it.

“You’re not dependent on him,” Gemma says, “You were so young, and life got really unfair with the two of you. It’s not weird that it stills hurts after all you went through. That doesn’t mean you are unable to love someone else.”

Harry is quiet for a moment, tries to make sense of what she just said. “Yeah… I guess,” he bites his lip. “Thank you,” he adds and Gemma chuckles.

“Now call him,” she turns a lamp off on her way out and Harry stares back into the fire.

It takes him another hour and three more whiskeys before he manages to work up the courage to even pick up his phone. By then it’s not even technically Louis’ birthday anymore, it’s Christmas Day, and maybe he has already gone to bed, maybe he’s not even in the UK, Harry doesn’t know.

He does know, however, that he is a lot drunker now than he was an hour ago. His heart is beating fast in his chest as he presses his phone against his ear.

“Happy Birthday, Lou,” he says before Louis even has a chance to say anything. Harry hears him sucking a breath in.

“Hi,” he says and Harry has missed his voice so much, “Thanks, mate, I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Harry asks and keeps staring intensely into the fire. It’s almost completely burned out by now.

“No worries,” Louis assures, and Harry hears how he’s moving around, small noises in the background. “The girls have gone to sleep, I was just watching TV anyway,” a door opens and closes in the background. Harry wonders if he has gone outside.

“What were you watching?”

Louis hesitates for a few moments, “Love Actually?” he makes it sound like a question.

“Oh,” is all Harry manages.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs. There’s a sound of a lighter flicking on. Definitely outside then.

“Well…” he swallows hard, “It _is_ a Christmas classic after all.”

“You’re not wrong, Styles.” Harry thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ he hears a smile in Louis’ voice.

“I liked Miss You, great song,” he hears himself say next.

There’s a moment of silence, it probably only lasts for a second or two, but it’s undoubtedly there. “I’m happy to hear,” Louis says, voice a little hesitant.

“And I miss you too, by the way” Harry’s drunk, idiot self continues, because it’s true. And if Louis can name drop _Love Actually_ when they haven’t spoken in months, Harry can say that he misses him.

“How drunk are you?” Louis asks and Harry closes his eyes.

“Not as drunk as you were when you called me.”

Louis doesn’t say anything.

“Lou. I’m serious.”

“Well,” Louis clears his throat, “Bold of you to assume the song is about you.”

“Stop it,” Harry frowns. He’s not trying to pick a stupid fight.

Louis sighs, “What do you want?”

Harry’s actually getting frustrated by now, what is it that Louis doesn’t understand.

“I miss you too, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You literally have a girlfriend, Harry,” he doesn’t even sound _snappy_ , that’s it. That’s what pisses Harry off the most, Louis just sounds tired.

“That’s beside the point, we’re breaking up anyway,” Harry says, even though that’s really not beside the point. That is in fact quite a good point, but he’s not going to let Louis have that one.

“So what, this is the new normal then? We can drunk call each other when the girlfriend isn’t available?” Louis huffs.

“Or we could start seeing each other again, like, for real,” Harry must be really drunk. This thought had barely crossed his mind before tonight. But now, as soon as he says the words, his entire body feels more awake. He realises exactly how much he misses _them_. Maybe, maybe now when he has finished off his breakup with Camille, as soon as the holidays are over, and he can see Louis and they can try again for real and maybe this time it will be better because by now it has been such a long time…

“No way,” Louis interrupts his thoughts. It feels like Louis has physically hit him in his stomach.

“But… but _you_ drunk called me, you said…”

“Just as much as this is a mistake now, that was a mistake back then,” Louis replies and Harry swears to _god_ if Louis was here with him right now Harry would kick his arse.

“You’re really serious now? Is this your way of saying this is it? What even was Miss You about then anyway?” There’s no way that song isn’t about Harry. They both know it and there’s no point that Louis denies it. Both of them have always hidden clues in their songs and music videos, and Louis must’ve known that the second the single dropped Harry would recognise the street he’s walking down in the video, the art gallery they filmed in, not to mention his _name_ written in neon the last seconds of the video. And the lyrics, don’t even get him started. Everything screamed them.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Harry stays quiet. _Let me in_ , he thinks.

“Timing has never been worse for us than right now,” Louis replies eventually.

So it’s not a no then.

“That’s not even the tiniest bit true and you know that.”

“It is.”

“Care to explain?”

He hates them like this. The stubborn fighting. It’s exhausting.

“It just feels like I wouldn’t fit into your life anymore, if we tried to be us again,” Louis eventually says. “You’re ages away, it’s like… I see you all the time fucking everywhere, on Twitter and Instagram and it’s like you’re living in an entirely different _universe_ from me.”

Harry frowns and lays down on his back again. “I don’t get it, what has changed?”

“ _Everything_ has changed,” Louis says, and his voice is definitely tired, but it’s also a little higher now, like it gets when he’s getting worked up over something. “You have your own album out and a tour coming up and I’m still here struggling finding where to place my feet.”

“Are you really comparing our musical achievements and using it as an argument to not date?” something starts boiling in Harry’s chest. “Because if that’s the case, last time I checked, you dropped a single like, two seconds ago.”

Louis laughs. It’s a dry, sarcastic one.

“Yeah, whatever,” he huffs and Harry wishes they could speak in person. Face to face.

“So there is no reason for us not to date again, huh?” Harry pushes. “And don’t bullshit me by saying you don’t love me anymore.”

There’s a long pause after that. Harry holds his breath.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Louis finally says.

“Explain it to me then.”

“Has it ever like…” Louis starts, “Has it ever like crossed your mind that I might not want your life?”

“Lou, honestly, what are you even talking about? No offence, but it’s not like you’re _not_ famous, we have the same life,” he’s starting to get impatient.

“Now you’re the one who’s full of crap,” Louis’ voice is harsher now, “We fucking do not. You are in an entirely different place than I have ever been close to, and the last thing I want right now is to start dating you and be your too-gay boyfriend who can’t make it in the industry. Maybe I want more out of my life than to be defined by your fame.” 

“Louis stop, that’s ridiculous. We can be together, no one has said anything about coming out right away, and you can still work on your music.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“And why the fuck not?” Harry sits up again, his head spins, and he’s getting really fucking pissed off by this conversation.

“You are all out, being yourself, waving pride flags around like a bloody moron and everyone loves it, they love you, they have always, always loved you.”

“The fans would do the same for you. They love you too, Lou. So many of them already know,” this feels like an old conversation. He’s pretty sure they have never brought it up before though; the difference between Harry coming out and Louis coming out. Because it was never a line drawn between them like this before. While in the band, it wasn’t on the map that if they ever came out, they wouldn’t do it together. It’s not like that anymore though.

“Yeah, maybe a few of the fans. It’s not just the fans though, is it? Media fucking loves you, bows to you like you are a god, no matter what you do. You scream from the top of your lungs whatever’s on your mind and still manage be linked to skinny models,” he takes a shaky breath, “Somehow you have always got away with being so fucking I don’t know just… open… while I- I have just… I- fuck this…” Louis’ voice cracks. He sounds like he’s on his way to tears and it just makes the rage rave in Harry’s chest.

“Do you think I have it easy then? Being sexualised all the time? Having people harassing me?” he snaps, he can’t stop himself. “I have been struggling too, Louis. Neither of us have had an easy time being gay in this industry,” he feels hurt, proper hurt. He cannot believe that Louis is comparing their struggles like this.

“But it’s not the same!” Louis’ voice’s getting high pitched. “Did you even see me back in the day, Harry? Did you see yourself? I don’t fucking get how you can say shit like this to me – you have been by my side, you saw everything. It’s not the same for us. Because I have always been too fucking much of everything, while you still fit into a role of a heterosexual man no matter what you did. Every time, the smallest pride thing I wore or word I outed, it was all over the fucking press and Syco was up my ass forcing me to act less _gay_ ,” Louis spits the word out like it was a disease, breathing heavily, and Harry doesn’t know what to say.

“Lou, come on, I’m sorry… can’t we…” he had no words. Suddenly there is prickling behind his eyes and a lump forming in his throat.

Louis sighs, “You know what, fuck this, literally fuck you Harry, you’re fucking stupid if you think you can just walk back into my life. Fuck off.”

Louis hangs up on him before Harry gets a chance to reply. Anger is boiling inside of him, there’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away and he is _tired_. He throws his phone so hard across the room the screen smashes against the wall. He stumbles up to his feet and, somehow, he keeps it together until he has reached the top of the stairs, then he pushes the door to Anne’s bedroom open and crawls into the bed beside her.

After that, he can’t do anything about his tears. He knows he must look ridiculous, drunk and crying and still in his clothes. Anne lets him be, strokes his hair and hums softly in his ear.

“He will come around,” she says softly to Harry, but he feels like he can’t breathe, everything’s boiling up. It has been two years. Two years of them not being together. He cannot do this anymore.

“What… what if he…” _doesn’t_. There’s no way he can form the words. Doesn’t dare to utter them. How can it have been so easy for Louis; how can he just push Harry away? “Why doesn’t he let me in? Why does he have to fucking push me away to prove a point? I _know_ he stills loves me so why doesn’t this break him too?” He knows it’s unfair to throw these questions at his mum, and she doesn’t say anything for a long time, just strokes his hair as she lets him cry.

“Maybe he’s just as broken; and scared of the fact that you’re so you now. Open and happy”, she says eventually. “I think you need to let him figure himself out as well, he’s got pushed back by a lot of things over the years, give him some time, okay?”

Harry closes his eyes. It burns behind his eyelids from his crying. Without any success, he tries his best to stop his head from spinning between memories of the two of them over the years. Louis being happy, giggly, Louis being Harry’s. And Harry being his.

He opens his eyes when he feels Anne trace his bicep, right over his ship tattoo.

“He will come back,” she repeated softly and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, “And when he does you will love him so good, just as both of you deserve.”

The door cracks open and Gemma tiptoes into the room, wearing the pyjama Harry got her as an early Christmas present. She crawls up on the bed and under the covers on his other side.

“Can’t believe you two were going to have a Christmas cuddle without me”, she huffs and presses her cold nose into Harry’s shoulder. Harry chuckles and wiped his eyes, shifts so he can wrap his arm around her. In a couple of minutes, it will be way too hot for them to be wrapped around each other like this, in Anne’s bed. But right now, it eases the knot in Harry’s chest. He tries to let Anne’s words sink in, tries to make himself believe them, forces himself to trust that she will be right.

_March 2018, London_

He is standing in front of his mirror when he gets the text.

_Outside !_

Harry sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket, grabs his keys and walks downstairs. His heart has been beating fast in his chest the entire morning, so he doesn’t really get more nervous as he goes outside and locks the door behind him.

He sees Louis through the window of the car, doesn’t look up from his phone until Harry opens the front door and gets inside.

“Hi,” he says and tries to smile.

“Hi mate,” soft voice, “you good?” the fringe falls over his forehead, the rest of the hair is tucked back under his snapback. He looks healthy, fine, Harry’s heartbeats steadies.

“Yeah, all good,” Harry says and breaks eye contact to fasten his seatbelt. Louis turns the steering wheel and drives out of Harry’s driveway. Neither of them say anything as Louis turns onto the main road and speeds up. The silence isn’t thick, though, not as Harry thought it would be, nothing like their conversations have been over the years. It’s like the edges have worn off a bit. It feels more like when you have cried for a very long time, and you’re still upset, though tears are all gone, and you are left with a warmth in your chest that’s not really comfortable but not really uncomfortable either.

It’s been a couple of weird weeks. Harry has been in the middle of a break between the first and second round of the tour, and he’s going back to Europe quite soon. Then he has an entire summer of touring. He’s excited, _so_ excited, has loved it all so far. And this time around he will do better stadiums, bigger, it will be amazing.

Louis will be the judge of the X Factor this fall. Harry knows that’s not what he had originally planned for this year. He wants to write music, Harry knows that Louis has already written a ton of songs, even more poems. Even though Harry can count on one hand the times they have spoken in the last year, he has figured out quite a bit on his own, sewed together the bits and pieces Louis or someone else has told him.

They drive for an hour before Louis drives off the highway and into a smaller road. After another fifteen minutes he stops the car, right on the spot by the old oak tree both of them know so well. He gets out of the car and grabs his backpack from the backseat. Harry stays still for a moment, tries to remember breathing. He knew they would come here; he can’t think of another place that would be more appropriate. He kind of wishes his brain had caught up quicker though, so he could have brought his hat after all. Or just prepared himself better.

“You coming?” Louis asks and Harry nods as he gets out. He closes the car door behind him and watches as Louis starts walking towards the walking trail with familiar steps. Harry puts his hands in his pockets and follows him, eyes on Louis’ back.

He’s wearing trackies as per usual, thick black adidas tucked into his socks, and a green hoodie underneath his jacket. He is beautiful, as always. Maybe a little more beautiful today, or maybe it’s just the fact that Harry hasn’t seen him in very long time. Almost a year.

They walk up the hill together, still not really talking other than to warn the other for a particular large rock or a branch.

“I still come here all the time,” Louis says when they have almost reached the top.

“You do? Even during winter?” Harry tries not to sound surprised. It’s just, Louis doesn’t really like to be cold and he has never mentioned ever going to their place without Harry. Harry hasn’t been here since they were still in the band.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, “helps me think y’know? The air here really clears the head.”

“Sure,” Harry doesn’t really know what else to say. Suddenly, it feels like he’s invading Louis’ space, like Louis has turned this place against Harry a little.

He can’t help wondering what else that once was theirs Louis has taken and turned to his own.

They reach the top of the hill and help each other spread out the thick blanket Louis had carried in his backpack before sitting down beside each other.

Harry closes his eyes tilts his head back towards the sun. It’s a beautiful day, especially for the fact that it is only March. Louis moves a little beside him, sits cross-legged so their legs touch. Harry opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. Holds his breath as his heart goes wild in his chest. Louis looks absolutely beautiful, his skin glowing in the sun, his soft cheeks a little red from the cold weather and the walk.

Harry’s heart rarely beats this fast anymore just by looking at Louis. It did all the time in the beginning, when they were young and messy and frustrated. Over the years he learned how to control those feelings, started to love more deeply, fully, his love shifted from being a first crush, an overwhelming feeling, and instead became a part of him, a constant warmth in his heart. When he looked at Louis, he felt steadiness, he felt secure, safe. He felt like he could breathe.

With that being said, sometimes Louis still takes Harry’s breath away like the first day he saw him. And his heart feels young again, wild, thirsty for lust, for wanting to touch. And to love.

“I want to tell you something,” Louis says, “That’s why I wanted us to come here. Please… please try to understand?” he looks at Harry, he’s a little hard to read. Harry nods.

Louis closes his eyes and his shoulders drops a little. There’s another minute or two of silence before he says anything, like he’s trying to build up courage. “I was so mad at you for leaving me when the band broke up,” he says eventually.

Harry frowns a little, “We had broken up before, Lou… You agreed to a break,” he replies, careful to not sound like he’s blaming him.

“I know, I know… it’s just. God, this is selfish,” Louis shakes his head a little and turns his gaze towards the hills on their left, “But all the other times we broke up, like, that last spring of OTRA when we were barely speaking, and I just messed up over and over again… it still always felt like I had you. I’d still see you every day and it was like no matter what I did I couldn’t lose you for real. And we got together after that, kind of, the last fall… and I never thought twice about it.”

“And then the band broke up,” Harry says quietly, unsure where Louis is going with this.

“Yeah, and so did you. And suddenly you left, like, really left. I had no date whenever I would see you the next time. I got so mad, I felt like I could never forgive you for breaking up the band and breaking up with me. So… I promised myself that I would get over you. That if you could move on and do your own thing then so could I,” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, still not looking at Harry.

“And then mum got sick and you were the first person I called because I realised that after her, you were my…” he clears his throat, “yeah, I panicked. I’m sorry for the way I treated you that year, I know how much you had to give up because of me… but I was still pissed off at you for leaving in the first place.

“So after, I vowed to myself that I would stand on my own, that it was time to let go of you for real. And then you showed up on my doorstep and played your entire album dedicated to our… love, or whatever. And fuck it, it just made me even more angry.”

Harry’s chest is aching and there’s a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry for sleeping with you that night,” he croaks out. 

Louis shakes his head, “We both knew that was inevitable, no reason to say you’re sorry. I’m not… anymore, at least.” He glances at Harry, tries giving him a little smile, though Harry notices that he has tears burning in his eyes. “But I think that after that I realised that I am doomed to live the rest of my life loving you, no matter if we’re actually together or not,” Louis continues. “It doesn’t even matter anymore, you’re like this constant force inside me, like an organ almost. And it fucking sucked, but I tried to come to terms with it.” 

Harry feels burning in his own eyes and tries desperately to swallow past the lump in his throat. Whenever he was with Camille, despite the fact that he loved her, he was always so frustrated with himself for loving Louis more. That no matter how good things were with her, had Louis pushed it a bit, had Louis expressed this, Harry would have left her without a second thought. That was what had torn him and Camille apart, after all.

“Lou…” Harry says, and his voice is a little shaky. Louis looks at him and he laughs a little when their eyes meet, both teary eyed. Louis wipes his eyes.

“Sorry, I just… fuck, we were so goddamn young, you know? We had no fucking idea what to do.”

“I know,” Harry replies and he can’t help but shuffle a little closer to Louis on the blanket. Their legs touch and the heat from Louis’ body radiate into Harry’s.

“I think about that all the time, how much responsibility was thrown on us from the start. I’m watching my siblings grow up and turn fifteen, eighteen, twenty… and it really messes with my head because they are still children.” Louis smiles at him, a teary smile. He chews a bit on his bottom lip and breaks the eye contact. As he looks out over the view, Harry almost cannot stop the impulse of wanting to kiss him.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Harry says when Louis hasn’t said anything in a little while. Louis nods a little but doesn’t look back at him.

Carefully, Harry let his fingers slip between Louis’ where his hand is resting on his thigh. He gives Louis plenty of time to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead he sighs a little and lifts their hands so their fingers can be intertwined properly.

“Why did you call that night?” Harry asks when they have been quiet for a couple of minutes.

Louis sighs, “Honestly? I don’t know. I wasn’t even that drunk, when I am Oli usually snatches my phone. But when your movie came out, I just kept watching it over and over again for a week, and I couldn’t stop listening to the album either. You were everywhere and it messed with my head. It was almost as if I hadn’t realised, until then, that you were actually doing your own thing,” Louis huffs out a laugh, but there’s no glee behind it. “Actually, I had decided to call you later that week, sober, to just chat or whatever. But I guess my drunk mind won that race. When I realised that Camille was with you and had heard it all I felt… I don’t know… fuck I just…”

“I’m so sorry for her being there,” Harry says quickly, “Honestly, I got so mad at her for hanging up, I promise,” Harry says and, by instinct, lets go of his hand and places his arm around Louis’ shoulders. Louis freezes for a moment and then sinks into Harry’s chest.

“No, don’t be… but I feel like until then I still had it in my head that it was us you know? That’s fucking stupid, but after I heard her voice… I realised I had truly lost you.”

“You never lost me.”

“But you wanted to, right? You wanted it to be different with her, you wanted it to work out,” there isn’t an ounce of jealously in Louis’ voice. He says it if it’s just a simple fact.

“Of course I wanted it to work out,” Harry runs his fingertips down Louis’ arm. “But that was for the same reason as you had for wanting to be free – I was tired of living my life dependent on you.”

Louis nods a little, wiping his eyes again.

“Anyway,” he straightens up a little, “that’s why I was so frustrated with you when you called me on my birthday. I just… I have never felt as far away from you as I do now.”

“What do you mean now?”

Louis sighs, “When it comes to like, our lives and work and all of that. That’s the one thing that kept us together before, not sharing that with you makes me feel all weird inside.”

Harry tries to think of a way to respond to that, but the pressing behind his eyes, the tears threating to escape are too immediate for him to be able to get a word out. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you over the phone,” Louis says when Harry doesn’t reply, “But I meant what I said,” he gives Harry a daring look, almost as if he’s waiting for Harry to fight him about it. Harry won’t, because he gets it now. He got it the morning after, realising what Louis had said, how true his words were, and since then Harry has felt like shit for not noticing, for picking up a fight and yelling back instead of listening. He had been too ashamed to call back and apologise though. And then he had been so frustrated with himself for always being too stubborn to admit how sorry he was. Now is not the time for his stubbornness or ego though, he knows he needs to push that aside.

“I’m sorry too,” he replies, “And I know, you were right about everything,” with that, Louis’ façade drops.

“Where are you Wednesday?” he asks, and Harry gets a bit taken aback by the question. That was not at all what he expected. 

“Um,” he tries to do the math quickly in his head and remember the tour schedule, “Stockholm? I think? Oh, wait no, Amsterdam, Stockholm is Sunday.”

Louis nods, still not opening his eyes. He’s on his way of saying something, Harry can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he tries to make himself relax.

“Maybe I can come?”

His heart starts to beat faster.

“Yeah, of course, sure, I’d love you to.”

“I need you to know that I don’t want to come out,” Louis says sharply, turning his gaze at Harry. Harry doesn’t want to fight him. But fuck.

“Louis… I… I respect that but I can’t… I can’t be closeted forever; it’s literally killing me,” a little bit of panic raises in his throat.

“I don’t mean forever,” Louis says quickly, and his face drops a little, Harry thinks he can almost see through it. Almost. “But I want my own career, I _really_ want to make music, find my own style, I want to find myself and my place for real,” he chews on his lip, Harry holds his breath. “And I really don’t want it to be defined or judged by who I love. I need to do this for myself.”

“So, you’re saying you don’t want us?” Harry asks carefully, trying to keep his voice from breaking. After all of the things Louis just told him?

Louis cracks a smile, “No, Curly”, he says and leans into Harrys side. “That’s not what I’m saying.” He sighs and turns his head into Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s body works on instinct and shuffles closer, he’s pretty sure Louis can hear his heartbeats through all the layer of clothes. “You really hurt me,” Louis whispers, “when you were so excited to break up the band… and break up with me. And I get it now, you were ready to explore, to be free, to do all of the things no one let you touch before… But nevertheless, you hurt me.”

“It wasn’t like I wanted to hurt you,” Harry says quickly, because he needs Louis to know that. He really doesn’t want Louis to think that there was a time that Harry didn’t love him.

“Yeah, I know you didn’t…” Louis says with a sigh, “but I never really knew how to handle this world without you.”

Harry understands, because he knows. Everyone thinks that Harry is Louis’ baby, that Louis is the caretaker, the one who looks after. And for a long time, he was; when they first got together Louis would literally fight anyone who breathed a bad word about Harry. But over the years… the stress, the pretending, it really got to Louis. It messed with his head. Playing pranks weren’t enough suddenly, especially when he got so much shit for being himself. He always partied way too much whenever he and Harry weren’t good, that’s why everything went so wrong when Zayn left, because Louis wouldn’t let Harry take care of him and he had so much grief, so much sadness. It really was a mess.

Harry thinks however, that today is the first time Louis has addressed it for real, that he needed Harry as much as Harry always felt like he did.

“It got hard, I tried to start working, but nothing was going the way I planned, and… and now I feel for the first time that I have people I want to work with, stories I want to tell, and… I’m just saying that I really fucking miss you and I love you but if we’re…” Louis’ hand comes to grab Harry’s free one. “Yeah, I just… I want to be myself this time. And it might take a while, years even… and I really try to not be terrified over needing you again. And like… you need to be okay with this.”

Harry kisses him. Knocks them over on the blanket by the force of it. He kisses him and Louis kisses him back and his hands come to Harry’s hair and he pulls him closer and it’s all a mess and Harry can’t help when he starts crying but Louis just hushes him and kisses him deeper, gentler, with so much love that Harry’s chest, the sun returns, the gold, warm of his love for Louis.

The love. The commitment. The choice. _I choose you._

“So, you mean we can… like, try? Again?” Harry pulls back just enough to ask, scans Louis’ face, looking for something, doesn’t really know what.

He finds only love.

Louis wipes his own tears and chuckles, “Yeah, spoil me with a big ass proper show on Wednesday and we’re good,” he whispers and Harry kisses him again.

The next week, Louis comes to Amsterdam.

And he stays for Antwerp, Stockholm, Copenhagen.

In reality, Harry realises a few months later, as he lays in hotel bed in Manila and listens to the shower running in the bathroom, Louis came with him on tour, and never left.

_January 2019, Tokyo_

“Mum, you know that song I played for you?” Harry presses the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can tie his shoes. Anne hums, he can hear her frying something. Chicken. Maybe halloumi.

“Yeah, the sad one? What did you call it? Golden?” she asks.

“Yes, right, can’t believe you remember. Anyway, so me and Mitch worked on it a bit this week, and we’ve changed it quite a lot actually. I will send it over right now and you can have a listen?”

“’Course, I’d love to,” she says, and Harry pulls his phone away from his ear so he can send her the dropbox link. He walks out of the door and listens to his own song through the phone, closes his eyes and tilts his head up towards the pale winter sun.

“You made it a happy one,” is the first thing Anne says when the song is over. “It was so slow and painful and now… it’s a happy one,” she sounds amused.

“Yeah,” Harry replies and bites back a smile, “It was always a happy one, I think? I just needed to get it right.”


	8. adore you

**_ADORE YOU_ **

_Louis’ point of view: Always You_

_May 2019, London_

“Harry?” Louis calls. Harry grabs the bottles of beer from the fridge and goes back outside.

“Yeah? You found anything?” he asks as he comes out on the porch and walks towards Louis. He’s lying on a blanket in the grass, Olivia beside him, sleeping with her body curled up against Louis.

“Yeah, I think this might be it,” Louis says “It’s a bit further away from city than we wanted, but it has like these really nice hiking lanes half an hour or so away, and it’s on the right side of town too,” he takes the bottle Harry’s offering him. “Thanks, babe,” he says and looks back at the screen of his MacBook. Harry sits down beside him, cross legged and runs a hand through Louis’ hair. He strokes his fingers down his neck and pinches a little at the skin and then massages the knots in his neck as he watches the photos Louis’ showing him.

It is indeed a nice house. Much nicer than the rest on the list that was sent to them. Not too big, but the property around it is enormous. Nothing like what he thought could exist so close to London.

“It’s really pretty,” he says and opens his beer. “I like the kitchen,” he adds when Louis scrolls through the pictures. It’s huge with lots of space for having their friends and family over, with an entire glass wall facing the deck and the beautiful garden. The house has quite a few bedrooms, the ones on the bottom floor can easily be turned into a proper studio.

“Can’t wait to build a studio for real,” Louis says, as if he has heard Harry’s thoughts.

“Me neither,” Harry says and keeps carding his fingers through his hair.

A studio. Their studio. Harry literally cannot wait to have that with Louis. His writing process for his new album has been entirely different from the first one, because Louis has been with him on the journey. Louis gets him, he gets what Harry wants out of a song, and he’s really good at both knowing how to fix a song but also calling Harry out to let go of one when it’s not worth more time. It’s been really nice to have Louis to vent to. The thought of having a studio at home though, and maybe start working more from London... yeah, he cannot wait.

“Should I text Amie and ask her to get us a viewing? Maybe later this week?” Harry asks. Amie is Louis’ PA, Harry has liked her from the second they met. They hit it off so quickly, and he could see exactly why Louis picked her. She wasn’t scared to bite off, and especially not to call Louis out on his bullshit, and at the same time she made sure to take care of him, proper care. She always had his best interest at heart. She was brilliant.

Louis closes his laptop and turns around so he’s lying on his back. He closes his eyes and nods.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he says and leans into Harry’s touch a little. Harry places his bottle on the grass beside them and lays down beside Louis. They shuffle around a bit and ends up with Harry’s arm under Louis’ neck and their legs intertwined. Olivia gets annoyed when they shuffle around, but as soon as they are still, she climbs up and places herself in the little space between their chests. Louis chuckles and pets her.

“Still not a cat person?” Harry asks and closes his eyes, sun warming his face.

“Never. But she’s cute. Absolutely my second favourite Styles.”

“Mhm,” Harry says, not opening his eyes. He knows what Louis wants him to say, so he waits to ask until Louis starts pulling a loose end in his shirt, picking at it until it will eventually rip. “Who’s your favourite?” He says and pulls him a little closer to his chest, presses a soft kiss to his temple.

“Gemma of course,” Louis replies and if Harry hadn’t his eyes closed already, he’d roll them. “Then Olivia, then Anne, then you maybe. Sometimes, when you’re nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you,” Harry protests, “You just get annoyed when I don’t go along with your shit.”

“Shhh, no swearing in front of the child, Harold!” Louis says, rubbing Olivia under her chin. “What kind of uncle are you even? A terrible one, terrible! Me on the other hand, I’ve got like sooo many siblings I’m basically the–”

He gets cut off because Harry has shifted a little and pulled him into a sweet kiss. Louis actually does let it go and kisses him back, that’s not very common. They kiss lazily for a bit, no one really makes much effort. It’s still a nice kiss, a really nice kiss. Harry’s favourite thing in the world is performing, but kissing Louis on a Saturday afternoon, lying in the grass with the sun warming their faces, and no other responsibilities up their throats, comes pretty close. 

That’s how Gemma and Anne find them half an hour later when they’re back from the shop, both grown men wrapped up around each other dozing on the blanket, with Olivia purring on the top of Louis’ chest.

They spend the afternoon cooking in Gemma’s kitchen and the evening sitting outside playing board games and drinking Cava.

He’s a little tipsy and they’re three hours into Monopoly. Louis has somehow managed to trick Harry into being an ally, even though Louis has lost absolutely all of his money and property and Harry has to bail him out every time he steps on Anne’s hotels. He’s soon running out of money as well.

It got colder a couple of hours ago, so Louis had gone inside and grabbed Harry’s hoodie. It’s the prototype of new merch for his album, the logo says _Treat people with kindness_ in blue and pink colours. It’s a size too big for Harry, which means Louis looks absolutely beautiful in it. Harry took a picture of him earlier, when the sun was just setting, and Louis flipped off the camera. Harry’s pretty sure he can soon fill a gallery with pictures of Louis wearing his merch while flipping the bird.

“Harry, snap out of it,” Gemma kicks him under the table. “Your turn.”

Harry picks up the dices and throws them. He barely has time to recognise that he got an eight when Louis and Gemma both shout, “Ha!” and high five each other.

Harry raises an eyebrow and looks at the board, realising that Gemma was standing on one of his properties, the one he has three houses on. Well. Fuck. He really needed that money to buy back Bond Street.

“Why are you cheering?” he asks Louis. “You’re my ally!”

Louis laughs, “Doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing you lose.”

Harry just shakes his head when Anne laughs and reaches up to run her fingers through Louis’ hair.

“Be nice, Louis,” she says, with so much fondness in her voice. Louis’s still smiling as he leans into Anne’s touch.

Harry’s heart flutters in his chest. He hadn’t realised how much he missed Louis with his family until it happened again. It’s so easy to just think about the selfish things he missed with Louis. Like just the two of them spending time together or cuddling or just waking up in the same bed. It’s an entirely different thing to watch Louis with the rest of the people in Harry’s life. The first time Anne saw Louis since they got back together a bit over a year ago, Anne had cried. It had been backstage at one of the shows, and they had fallen into each other’s arms and refused to let go the rest of the evening.

They play for another half an hour until Gemma literally owns everything, Louis has stepped on Mayfair thrice and lost all of Harry’s money and Gemma has undoubtedly won.

“What’s special about today?” Gemma asks later, when she and Harry are in the kitchen making tea. They can still hear Anne’s and Louis’ chatter from the outside.

“Nothing? Or what? Should it be?” Harry asks and places cups on the tray.

Gemma shakes her head and fills the kettle with water.

“Nah, I just... you seem a little extra fond,” she says it in her softest voice. She could easily have made fun of him like she usually does when Harry gets his fond face or even his _Husband Face_ as his infamous “Louis’ face” has grown to be known. Gemma saw a thread on twitter with all the times Harry scrunched his nose to hide a smile whenever he and Louis were in interviews and Louis said something extra funny. She sent it in their friends group chat. And now they all use it to describe Harry’s face whenever he looks at Louis.

He shrugs, eyes flicker towards the porch. “We found a house today,” he says.

“Really? That’s nice, H. You’ve been looking for quite some time now.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods and leans against the counter as they wait for the water to boil. “We want it to be completely right. We haven’t seen it yet, obviously, but it might be it,” he pauses, “I’m just so happy, you know?” Gemma smiles at him. She pushes herself off the counter and goes to stand beside Harry. She leans into his side and he hugs her to his chest. “Like, it just hits me how much I love him, _adore him_. I’m so glad we finally got it right.”

“I’m really glad you got it right too,” Gemma says softly. “Mum cried the whole day when you told her you two were moving in together again.”

“Well… I mean, I kind of did too,” Harry laughs. They stay like that, quiet and in peace for a few moments before Gemma speaks up again.

“Being someone watching from the outside...” she starts, “It truly was remarkable how good you were for each other from the start, right? Like, we thought you’d break up after a couple of months, that the lack of love would break you like everyone else. But you two just... it’s like I never believed in soulmates, but like it feels like you have always loved him?”

“I have,” Harry assures.

“No but like... like you loved him right away, if that makes sense? You came home with someone we had never met, and you fit to him like a puzzle piece. At sixteen.”

Harry stays quiet for a while. The silence around them breaks by Louis’ and Anne’s mixed laughter. Harry’s heart flutters in his chest.

“I don’t get it either. It’s never felt like how I got love described to me. It’s like... it’s like because of what we were put through together, we made this lifelong commitment to each other without knowing we signed up for it. No one gets me as he does, no one understands me or picks up my jokes as fast. He just... he’s brilliant. But it’s still weird because like,” he pauses for a second, trying to puzzle together his thought, “Because… I loved Camille, right? I truly did. I was genuinely happy with her and I didn’t feel like I was missing something or missing him. But that relationship fell apart within weeks after our first fight... and it never felt like there was a point in fixing it, you know?”

Gemma nods against his chest. The kettle pops but they stay still.

“With Louis... we’ve fought so much. Always. Both for and against each other. It’s so different, because loving him feels like a part of my DNA, it’s something that was chosen for me and not by me. And it was a fucking terrifying thought for so long, because I didn’t want to be dependent, it’s just now that we’re back together that I’ve come to terms with it. There’s no me without him. And I’m so thankful that he feels the same way.”

As soon as he has said the words, he feels it in his core how true they are. They have talked about it of course, with each other, gone over it multiply times over the year that they have been back together now. They picked their love apart and examined every piece of it, so they could build it back together, on a stronger foundation than before. Telling Gemma feels entirely different though. And it’s a very comforting feeling.

“How’s therapy going?” Gemma asks.

“Better than expected actually,” Harry says, “I was unsure of letting us go to the same person first, because I thought that it might be a bit weird, right? But so far, it’s been good for both of us. We’re actually going to do couple sessions with her when we get back to LA.”

“That’s really nice, H.” Poppy, the therapist Harry has had for years, had told him that she was more than willing to help Louis out if he wanted, and when Louis had agreed to that, Harry had teared up a little. It was a such clear proof on how far they had come, and how more open Louis had become towards letting Harry help him.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good. It’s nice to have like, a third objective part. We often get so stuck up in the past when we fight, because it hurt so much back then, so it’ll be nice to have someone maybe point out the things we’re missing.”

“Where is the tea even?” They get interrupted by Louis’ voice coming from the door. He’s walking over towards them, hood pulled up over his head. Gemma chuckles and pulls away from Harry. She holds her arms out for Louis and Louis happily accepts the hug, though a little shadow of surprise flickers across his face.

“It’s done, Harry’s just slow as always,” Gemma says when they pull back and pats Louis’ back. She grabs the tray of cups for the counter and walks out of the kitchen as Harry grabs the kettle and pours the hot water into the pot. Louis comes up beside him and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Louis says softly. Harry turns around and places his hands on Louis’ hips.

“No, you haven’t. I was starting to wonder if you would file for divorce.”

Louis ignores him and reaches up to grab a curl at the back of Harry’s neck and tugs on it lightly. Almost as if he wants it to get longer. Harry waits for him as he does that. He keeps his hair longer now, not as long as before of course, but not as short as he had when he first cut it off. He knows Louis likes it longer, and even though he has never admitted to Louis that he keeps his hair that way for him, because then he’d never hear the end of it, he does.

“This has been nice,” Louis says and lets go of the curl. He grabs another one and tugs on that one slightly as he looks at Harry.

“It has,” Harry agrees.

“Sorry for losing Monopoly for you,” Louis doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“You’ll make up for it one day, I’m sure,” Harry pulls Louis a little closer, so their hips and chests are flushed together.

“I can cosplay the Monopoly man in bed and give you all of my treasures?” Louis says as his hands come up and cup around Harry’s neck.

Harry laugh, “Yeah, I’m looking forward to that,” he says and leans down to press a soft kiss to Louis’ lips before pulling away completely and grabbing the tea pot.

When they get back outside, Louis doesn’t go and sit in the chair he’s been in all evening. Instead he squeezes himself into Harry’s side of the couch, so he can cuddle up against him.

It really does seem like Louis is trying to make Harry’s heart explode with love tonight. Gemma beams at them as she pours tea into the cups and hands them over. Anne reaches out and runs her fingers through Harry’s hair first and then Louis’ before leaning back and picking up where she left in her story.

It’s not like Louis doesn’t usually show his love and affection towards Harry in front of their friends. He does. But the line between friends and people who are not allowed to see them became a bit blurry over the years, they were so conscious of their behaviours when they were watched or filmed, so it was hard to switch on and off between who could see and who couldn’t. It was easier to just never touch much, if it wasn’t intentional.

This is nice though. Ever since they got back together, the people they’ve been seen with have only been people they can trust, for the most part. Which means that they have been able to be a lot touchier. Harry loves it. And he loves when Louis shows affection towards him in front of others. This. Sitting close together because they want to, snuggling up, it means more to him than to be able to kiss Louis in front of someone. This is them showing their love in a way that was so brutally ripped away from them.

It’s getting late and after they’ve finished their tea, they call for a cab and hug Gemma and Anne goodbye. Anne holds Louis for a long time, not letting go of him until their car pulls up in front of Gemma’s house, and Louis holds onto her. Harry can’t help but smile when he sees how relaxed Louis looks beside Anne. If there is one thing he’ll always share with Louis, it’s his mum.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Anne says softly and brushes Louis’ fringe out of his face before pulling Harry’s head down and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Louis hugs Gemma as well and Harry opens the front door, “Six o’clock, don’t forget,” she reminds them and Louis nods.

“No worries, we’ll be on time, or else Lottie will never let us hear the end of it,” Louis says with a chuckle.

They call out goodbyes and Harry closes the door behind them as they walk towards the car.

“It’ll be so nice to see everyone tomorrow,” Louis says, “I haven’t seen Lou and Lux in… a year maybe?”

Harry nods and opens the car door for Louis, “Yeah, I miss them too,” he says and gets in beside him. Harry tells the driver the address to Louis’ house, where they have been living ever since they got back together.

After moving out of his family home ten years ago, Harry never really found a new place that felt like home. They were on tour for five years straight, and even if he had bought houses over the years he never really lived long in any of them. Staying in LA felt a lot like being on vacation because of the sunny weather, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever think of that as normal. Tokyo felt like a relief in so many ways because of the completely different culture and the anonymity he could experience there, but it was too far away, and he knew he could never settle down there for good.

And London… London without Louis had been unbearable. The two of them moved there together, they moved _in with each other_ , and whenever Harry returned to his own house in London, he always felt more alone than anywhere else in the world.

He realises now however, as he turns his head and looks at Louis beside him, who chews on his bottom lip as he types a message on his phone, that he could probably have kept looking forever for home and never found a place that would made him feel the way he feels when he’s with Louis.


	9. walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my favourite track of Walls: Walls!  
> ”A wall is a wall”, Louis said.  
> ”A wall is a wall MY ASS”, I said.  
> Jokes aside, this chapter covers Louis’ sexuality. I want to be clear that sexuality isn’t something that should be assumed or speculated about, and yet again remind you that this Louis is a _fictional character._
> 
> With that being said, without Walls this fanfiction could never have existed. The entire story is written backwards with Louis’ songs as my guide to navigate through Harry’s albums. Louis is my favourite person on the entire planet, and this is my favourite chapter of the fanfiction. He means everything to me, I feel like it shows through what I’ve written.

**PART THREE**

_**WALLS** _

_July 2019, London_

“Can we invite Liam and Niall over?” Louis asks when Harry comes through the glass doors that divide their kitchen and the deck.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says after a little pause and sets down the cups of coffee on the small table between the lounge chairs. “Why this sudden though?” he asks as he sits down in his chair. Louis grabs his cup of coffee and takes a sip. It’s a bit too hot, he burns the tip of his tongue. “It’s not that I don’t want to, obviously I do,” Harry continues, “I just... we don’t really do that, like ever.”

“I know,” Louis replies and lowers his cup, “It just hit me that I don’t think we’ve seen each other, just the four of us, since like… since the band really.”

“Oh,” Harry leans back in the chair and nods, “Yeah, you’re right. That really does need to change,” he takes a sip of his coffee as well and Louis looks away, let his eyes wander over the big garden instead. Clifford is walking around in the grass, pushing a football in front of him as he sniffles around. It’s a beautiful day and everything is peaceful around them. Quiet. It’s still quite early, coming close to nine. They’ve been waking up earlier since moving into the house. Louis’s not quite sure if it’s because both of them have grown to love mornings on the deck so much or if it’s because they’ve gotten older. But the soft singing from the birds feels like light pouring into Louis’ chest and he’s pretty sure he has never loved a house the way he loves this one.

“Is it weird that I’m a bit scared it’ll be awkward?” Louis asks, because he has a little knot in his chest, a feeling of embarrassment over that particular thing that scares him. Because what if. What if they’re not good together anymore?

Harry shakes his head and reaches out for Louis. Louis tilts his head so Harry can run his fingers through his fringe. “No, I feel the same, honestly. It’s like… It’s not like we’d get together when you and I were fighting right? And now it’s been a very long time, it can be a little weird to pick up relationships when they’ve been on standby for years,” he pulls back his hand and takes another sip of his coffee, “But hey, it worked for us, so I have no doubt in my mind it’ll be great to see the boys.” 

“I guess,” Louis nods, he hesitates for a moment, and then he says “You know what? I know both of them are in London, I’m going to text them right now.”

He replaces his mug on the table and picks up his phone. Right away he opens the WhatsApp group named _Different Directions_ (Louis still hasn’t forgiven Harry for that name change) that hasn’t been used in at over a year, and starts typing.

**Tommo:**

_Lads ! Come over this weekend. We are all moved in now and we miss you. Harry will probably make something eatable for dinner_.

After he has sent it, he looks at Harry, who’s looking down at his own phone, reading what Louis just sent. He shakes his head but Louis’ pretty sure he can see a smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

“I always manage to make something eatable, I’m a terrific chef,” Harry tells him and fails miserably with keeping a serious face.

Louis rolls his eyes, “You’re a big fucking liar, that’s what you are,” he says and scrolls through his Instagram feed. “It annoys me how you’ve somehow managed to trick the fans into thinking you can _cook_. It’s been ten years and you’re no better than when you were seventeen.”

Harry knows he’s right. Louis knows that Harry knows that he is right. It’s just pure facts. Harry might have been okay in the kitchen when he was seventeen and compared to Louis, but that doesn’t really say much now, nine years later.

“I’ve tricked them into a lot of things over the years,” Harry says, and Louis looks at him, “But hey, I let everyone think you’re the big spoon, so why can’t I have nice chef-rumours?”

“Just shut up already, will you?”

Harry laughs and Louis can’t really help but smile as well.

“Anyway,” he says instead and sits up a little in the chair, “The builders should be done today right? So they can properly finish off the studio like, tomorrow, or Thursday?”

Harry nods, “Yeah, the music company we hired is coming in tomorrow. Amie went over this with you on FaceTime yesterday.”

“No she didn’t.”

“She did, I was literally in the same room.”

Sometimes Louis really hates when Harry does that. Listens.

“Anyway. We’ll have a studio this weekend. That’s the point. Maybe we can record a new version of Best Song Ever when the boys come over.”

“I doubt they’d want that.”

“Aw, Harold come on, you’re no fun,” Louis says and nudges Harry with his foot. Harry laughs again and shakes his head a little before picking up his book again. Louis knows Harry’s looking forward to the studio just as much as Louis, if not more. They’ve used two of the bedrooms on the bottom floor for it and for the last two weeks it has been construction workers over almost every day. Everything is really coming together beautifully. Although, Louis has a vague feeling building one studio might have been a mistake. They’ll probably fight over who should use it, as both of them get into work moods in periods and can be constantly working for days and days literally without breaks.

Harry still travels regularly between London and LA, since his whole team is based there. Lately, he has been mentioning eventually moving back to London permanently, so he can work from the same place as Louis all the time. So he can be home more often. Louis would never ask him to do that for him, but he can’t help but long for it. Just the idea of not having to be away from each other all the time makes his heart warm. Next year, both of them are going on tour though, so it’ll have to wait until after.

His phone lights up in his lap and there’s a new text in _Different Directions_.

**Nialler:**

_Hell yea! Looking forward to it x_

A few seconds later Liam’s reply comes as well.

**Payno:**

_Yaaaay_ 🥰 _Missing you guys!_

Harry picks up his phone when he notices Louis laughing and types.

**Harold:**

_WELCOME_ 💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼💃🏼

**Nialler:**

_I’ll bring bear_

**Payno:**

_I hope you don’t_

**Nialler:**

_BEER**_

_Jesus Liam_

_It’s not my fault you gave your kid a name that’s v similar to a word for alcoholic beverages_

_Let an Irish man live_

“I think I want break up with you and get together with Niall instead,” Louis says and Harry snorts, “He’s definitely the funniest guy I know.” 

“It’d be hard for me to disagree to that one,” Harry takes a sip of his coffee, “though I don’t think he’s better than me in bed.”

Okay then. Sometimes Harry is actually funny too. He shouldn’t be encouraged though, him being funny all the time isn’t going to happen. Louis rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair.

“You really are one of a kind, Styles.”

Liam gives the best hugs. He truly does. He has always managed to wrap himself around Louis and hugged him so tight that for a moment or two Louis’ usually so busy brain calms down. He grips Liam’s shirt and holds onto him tightly. It’s been way too long.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into his shoulder as he listens to Niall’s laugh beside them. Liam squeezes him harder once and then puts some space between them. He looks at Louis and his eyes are so warm. So happy. Puppy eyes, Liam has always had puppy eyes.

“Move over, Payno,” Niall says and wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders. Louis laughs as his cheek is squeezed against Niall’s.

He opens his eyes and his heart swells in his chest. Harry has wrapped his arms around Liam’s neck and Liam holds him so tight. Louis doesn’t think he has ever seen them hug like that. Not in a very, very long time at least. He almost gets a little teary just by looking at it.

“Okay lads,” Niall pulls back from the hug. He still has one arm wrapped around Louis’ shoulders. “Show us love nest number... Four? Five? What did we agree on in the car?” he asks and looks at Liam.

Louis meets Harry’s eyes and his heart flutters in his chest, because Harry scrunches his nose a little and obviously tries to bite back a smile.

“Depends on how you count,” Harry says and Liam nods.

“Yeah, that’s what I told Niall. Do we count the house in LA now? Do we count the flat Harry never lived in because he was supposedly moving out? Do we count houses you both have lived in but not owned together? Do we maybe even count that one bunk bed on the bus?”

“Hard work for your brain to manage, I hear,” Louis interrupts and raises an eyebrow at Liam.

“Oh shut it, you both can’t wipe the fond off your faces and I’m nice enough not to call you out.”

Yeah. Louis loves them. He has missed them.

“So, you’ve written a song... in which Louis is a fish?” Louis hears Niall say as he comes back outside. He has four bottles of beers in his hands and he’s struggling a bit, but he manages to set them down gracefully... kind of.

“I asked if I could be a lion but apparently that was out of question,” Louis says and opens his beer as he sits down beside Liam.

“It’s _symbolic_ ,” Harry protests and Louis just rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. He reaches his legs out underneath the table and places his feet on the top of Harry’s thighs. Harry’s fingers immediately wrap around one of Louis’ ankles. Louis actually has socks on today, Harry must be thankful.

“I don’t get it. Louis is not a fish,” Niall continues.

“More like a small dog, or a lemur... maybe a hedgehog,” Liam adds.

“Lads come on, give me a break,” Louis says. Those are some weird fucking animals to be fair.

Harry squeezes his ankle and rubs his fingers in small patterns across Louis’ skin.

“Maybe I’ll have to rethink it then... a hedgehog huh?” Harry looks at him and Louis flips him off.

“Yeah exactly,” Liam says, “Because they’re the cutest and you really want to cuddle them but you can’t come near because– _OUCH_ ,” Louis had reached over and twisted Liam’s nipple. It was an impulse. An instinct. He couldn’t help it. “See?” Liam gestures at him, like he has made a cleaver point and... oh. Tricky bastard.

“I’ll never forgive you for placing those ideas into his head Liam, we fought over fish and now we have to fight over hedgehogs,” Louis sighs dramatically.

“There’s nothing to fight about. It’s my music video,” Harry shrugs, “you just have to go along with it.”

He’s really not thinking enough about the fact that Louis’ foot is currently two inches away from his dick, that’s one thing for sure. If Louis wasn’t planning on using that dick for his own pleasure later, Harry would have been very sorry right now.

“Harold,” he says, and he hates how Harry’s cheeky grin just makes him a little bit turned on when he tries to pick a fight with him.

The topic changes and Niall starts talking about a friend of his that Harry knows as well. They met her, Kalyn, at the Eagles concert the two of them went to, and according to Niall, Kalyn has just opened up her new gallery and they should all go together, _because the art is sick mate, you’ll love it_.

Louis zones out a little and loses focus of the conversation as he watches them. His boys. Niall, thicker accent and brunette now, with confidence radiating from him. Liam, finally looking so happy and calm and at peace. And Harry, his Harry, the one person Louis will write songs about for the rest of his life, his love, his partner. They haven’t hung out like this in so long, Louis doesn’t even remember when it was just the four of them like this, having dinner together, without another business person at the table. It happened quite regularly the first years, when everything was still new and none of them really had made any friends in the industry. They used to hang out all the time back then, even saw each other during the breaks. It wasn’t like they stopped being friends the last years or so, but after Louis and Harry’s first break nothing really went back to normal, and dinners and just them hanging out didn’t really happen anymore.

And then Louis realises that this, just the four of them having dinner, actually never has never happened. Because one person is missing now. The knot of anxiety in Louis’ chest, the one he’s been carrying around since he invited Niall and Liam over, suddenly makes so much more sense. Of course.

Louis never really goes down this trail of thoughts, it hurts too much, he misses him like crazy, he hasn’t had the strength to face all those feelings yet. It was so long ago, _four years ago_ , and still it hasn’t gone a day without Louis thinking about him.

Zayn.

He was so angry for so long, completely out of himself with all the _rage_ he felt towards him. How could he leave? How could he leave _him_ , Louis, his best friend? They were partners in crime, they were going to take over the world together, Zayn was the only person besides Harry who knew everything about Louis, the only one who was allowed to see him weak. Louis knew all of Zayn’s struggles as well, or so he had thought. But Zayn left him. Without as much as an explanation. One day he hugged Louis goodbye and went home from tour, and they haven’t seen each other since. Not even when Louis needed him the most, at the performance after his mum passed. Not even then did Zayn show up. And the anger Louis had felt in his chest was almost too big for him to carry, it was _so_ heavy.

He’s not angry anymore, at least he doesn’t think so, but the hurt is still there, ever so present.

He wishes things would be different. He wishes _so badly_ he could turn his head and meet his light brown eyes, he wishes he got a third hug today, he wishes he could’ve opened up the even older group chat when he texted the boys, he wishes he had had to ask Niall for help to carry not four but _five_ bottles of beer from the kitchen. He desperately wishes he could hear _his_ laugh mixed with the others’.

He feels a squeeze on his ankle, and meets Harry’s eyes. Judging by the worried look on his face, Louis must’ve been zoned out for longer than he thought. Harry mouths _you okay?_ and Louis nods and gives him a little smile at him as he relaxes his shoulders. He _is_ okay. This might be the first time in four years he can honestly say that. There’s still a lot going on, a lot of things inside him that he needs to handle and work through, but he is okay. And maybe sometime in the future, if he dares to dream, there’ll be a time when there are five of them again.

And thankfully, nowadays Louis is brave enough to wish for good things to happen.

“It’s a really nice house,” Liam says and kicks the ball to Louis. They’re at the end of the garden where Louis has set up his football goal. Clifford is laying in the grass beside them, he got too tired after chasing the football for fifteen minutes straight. Harry and Niall left to go and check out the studio together, and they’ve been gone for quite some time now. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if they really have written a new version of Best Song Ever by now. Actually, he’s be kind of disappointed if it turns out to not be the case.

“Yeah, right? It feels so much like us, and now when the studio is all done and set up, I’m just... I could stay here forever,” he replies.

Liam is quiet for a moment; Louis can hear his silence.

“Why don’t you ask what you want to ask?”

Liam sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I just... Niall and I talked about it a bit about...”

“Harry and me?”

“Yeah. And like, it’s just... I get it that I will never understand what you both were put through. I know that. And I’m sorry if I couldn’t be there enough for you. But it’s just... I was a bit shook, that you two actually have worked this out. Is it truly for real now?”

“It has always been for real,” Louis says before he can stop himself, he hears how defensive he sounds.

“I know, Lou. But you know what I mean.”

Louis kicks the football towards the goal. He misses it.

“It is. At least I think so,” he says and for a moment he debates how honest he should be. Then he realises that it’s Liam, the kindest and warmest person he knows, he can be honest. “I’m scared too, I’m scared to death by all of this. Because right now we’re fine, but we’ve also been working on our own terms ever since Harry finished tour. Next year both of us will be touring and that’s going to be a lot harder.” Laughter can be heard from the house and he sees Harry and Niall reappear on the deck. His heart flutters in his chest as he watches them. “This time... is different. It feels like we could choose each other this time. We tried being apart and it was shit, and now we have chosen to commit to this, both is us. I love him and he loves me, and maybe... for the first time I think I understand what a heavy responsibility it comes with, to commit to one person for the rest of your life.”

He looks back at Liam, his smile is so big, “I’m so thankful for you working this out,” he says and Louis nods.

“Yeah, me too. He’s so worth it.”

“You’re both worth it,” Liam wraps his arms around Louis and pulls him into a bear hug. Louis sinks into the hug and nods against his shoulder. As they hug, Louis thinks that he should call Liam more often, they should talk more than they do. It feels like he’s constantly missing a part of him when they haven’t spoken in a while, and the same goes for Niall. He realises that he feels the same way about them as he does about his siblings. But maybe that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they _are_ brothers after all, they’re not meant to be apart. When they pull away from the hug Liam messes up his hair and Louis lets him off easily with just one nipple twist.

They walk back up the small hill and towards the house. Harry’s standing by the outside kitchen island making drinks, and Louis’ body moves on its own. He walks up beside Harry and nudges his elbow to get his attention.

“Mhmm,” Harry says, he’s really focused on pouring the exact amount of lime juice into the glasses. Louis nudges his elbow again. Harry finally sets the lime down and straightens up, turning to Louis.

“I love you,” Louis says. But that’s not enough; he wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and presses his face into Harry’s chest. Breathes in the scent of him.

“Baby,” Harry says softly and one big hand stroke Louis’ back, the other cups his neck. “Is everything alright?” He asks and Louis closes his eyes, he takes in the sound of Niall and Liam’s voices, the scent of Harry, the feeling of Harry’s bigger body pressed up against his. Warm arms holding him.

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, “It just feels so good to be home.”

_August 2019, London_

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

“What am I going to do in Mexico when you’re just going to be working? I’ll get bored.”

Harry pouts and goes to stand between Louis’ legs where he is sitting on the kitchen island, legs swinging off the edge. Big hands wrap around his hips and for some reason Louis feels a little dizzy by the touch. He cups his hands around Harry’s neck, leaning down and pecking his lips.

“I could get some time off, or we could stay a day or two extra. You love Mexico,” Harry continues.

Louis rolls his eyes, “You know I got work to do here. And what’s the matter this time anyway? You’re only gone for a week.”

“Nine days.”

“We’ve managed more.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

Louis frowns a bit and scans Harry’s face. Harry has been restless for the last couple of days. While Louis has been in a writing mood and spending most of his time in the studio, or driving into London for writing sessions, Harry’s not really been doing any of that. He doesn’t have much of his album left, just promo stuff, photoshoots, filming music videos and he’s not really in a mood to sit still in the studio while Louis fiddles with small details of songs.

“What’s the matter, love?” Louis pokes his fingers into Harry’s cheek. He wants to see the dimples.

“I don’t...” he sighs, not quite meeting Louis’ eyes, “I don’t know? It just hit me that we’re going to be away from each other quite a bit from now on. And it freaks me out a little.”

Louis stays quiet. He runs his fingers through Harry’s hair a couple of times, tries to find the right words to say. Their teams are currently setting up touring schedules for them. And while they are working really hard to make sure Louis and Harry can see each other every other week, it’s still going to be so much more time apart. Not just once in a while being apart for two weeks, more like being apart for two weeks will be the new normal.

“I know,” is all he manages with a sigh.

Harry sighs as well and wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, pulling him into a hug. When he sits on the counter like this, Louis is taller than Harry, so he takes the moment to appreciate how he can rest his cheek against the top of Harry’s head.

“I love you,” Harry’s voice is muffled, face pressed into Louis’ shoulder.

Sometimes Louis wonders how many times they’ve said those words to each other over the years. And he wonders if they shouldn’t have started losing meaning, at least in moments like this, when they both are so sure of each other’s love. They have always known that they never stopped loving each other. Not even for a second. Harry still tells Louis he loves him at least twice a day. They’ve been back together for a year and a half now, and Louis can’t for the life of him understand how he managed to go two years without hearing that.

“I love you, too,” he says softly and pulls back a little so he can tilt Harry’s head up and lean down for a kiss. When he pulls back, he glances at the clock. Eleven am. Four hours until Harry’s leaving. “Hey, how about we make the most of the time that’s left?”

The next morning, he wakes up alone in their bed.

He spends most of the day on their deck writing and recording shorts melodies that come up in his head. At lunch he calls Anne and talks with her for a little bit, they try to puzzle together a day when he and Harry can drive up to Holmes Chapel for a visit. He also talks to the twins on FaceTime for the fourth time this week as he’s trying to convince them to do their A–Levels _because education is important and no, Daisy, for the last time it doesn’t matter that Lottie didn’t do them_. It ends with Daisy calling him a shitface and hanging up (and Louis has to try really hard to be mad instead of proud of that insult), then five minutes passes and she calls again and tells him she’s sorry.

Lottie comes over that evening and she cooks for them (Louis does his best to help out) and they spend the evening drinking beers and talking. About all the things that hurt. And how much they miss them, mum and Fizz, and how unfair life is. But they also laugh, no one can make him laugh as much as Lottie does. He’s so thankful he has her, constantly he’s blown away by her strength. Someday, he thinks when they’ve hugged goodnight, he’ll be just as strong and brave as she is.

He goes to sleep alone, but he doesn’t feel lonely.

Ever since he and Harry got back together, he has been determined to be better for Harry, to love him more fully. He has always known he wants to come out one day; to be able to wave pride flags at his upcoming shows, to hold Harry’s hand in public. And as nice as that thought sounds, if he thinks about actually doing it, and the reactions that will come with it, his hands start to shake, and he panics.

Poppy, his therapist, has referred to it as internalised homophobia. Louis of course knew what that term meant, but he never thought it applied to him. It’s not like he was ashamed for being gay, he and Harry have a decade worth of history that loads of people know of, and Louis has always wanted to eventually come out, with or without Harry.

He’s gotten quite defensive towards Poppy when she said that. And then she had just bluntly asked him, “You said you’ve been with other people during your breaks. Have you ever had sexual relationships with men other than Harry?”

And it took Louis aback.

Because the answer was no.

He had _thought_ about it of course, especially after the band, but there was always something stopping him, something he couldn’t quite put words too. The one time he came close, he had been grinding against a man at club. He was taller than him, had dark hair and hazel eyes, incredible cheekbones, he was probably a little older, and they had been dancing and flirting all night. Louis had felt happy, sexy, excited, _ready_ even. But when that person leaned in to kiss him, Louis freaked and pushed him away and literally ran out of the building. When Poppy asked him about other sexual relationships with men it made him extremely anxious because – what if he wasn’t as attracted to men as he thought he was? Was he straight with Harry as the only exception?

He realised quite quickly that was not the case. Ever since he was young, he has been feeling differently towards men. Even before he knew Harry, he got himself off to pictures of David Beckham and Leo DiCaprio and struggled with not getting hard in the locker room after football practice. He felt a certain way when he flirted with men, or when he was stood beside someone who was a bit taller and big enough to hold him down, even though that only ever happened in his mind and fantasies.

“You and Harry got forced into the closet, you were given fake girlfriends, you still have dating rumours with Eleanor even though she’s just your friend and colleague. Even if you are okay with the idea of you being gay in private, the right to have a choice whether or not to label one self is crucial for our self-images. You didn’t have a choice, Louis,” Poppy had said, her voice was so soft, but it felt like a tornado breaking through the room, “You were denied your basic right of speech for so long. Being gay in private is okay, no one has to come out, but you have to ask yourself why the privacy feels safe. To cope with being heavily closeted, you might’ve told yourself that the reason you could have Harry was because that was a lifelong commitment, it was true love. While you denied yourself sexual relationships with other men when you could have them, because those weren’t worth the pain and the hateful actions from your management,” Poppy continued. “And maybe this time, when you in theory can come out, you’re stopping yourself because you believe the only way you’re allowed to love a man is behind closed doors.”

Louis remember feeling so exposed where he was sat in the armchair. He remembers feeling like he couldn’t breathe, like the air in the room was too thick. And Poppy’s eyes on him were too intense. Everything was too much, it hurt too much, he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“I don’t… fuck I don’t know, maybe?” he had said, and his voice was all thick, choked up in a very unpleasant way.

“Over the years, you have taken a lot of responsibility for Harry’s feelings. You did it because you loved him, and you wanted him to be able to come out. And that probably came with the price of refusing yourself the same freedom,” Poppy continued.

“I’d do it all over again for him, it’s not like he hasn’t done anything for me... seeing him like this is everything... It’s like, the reason I want to get better. Because of him,” Louis told her, because she needed to know. She must know that he would never put this on Harry. Never.

“I know,” she assured him. “But Louis, you need to understand that internalised homophobia isn’t just not letting yourself be with the person you love. It’s about how you feel about yourself and the fact that you are attracted to men, and that attraction doesn’t necessarily have Harry as a limit.”

Louis hadn’t known how to respond to that. It felt like she had ripped open his chest and his heart, and now she was holding it in his hand, examining it, judging it.

She waited for him to reply, and when he didn’t, she had asked, “You’ve told me that you were very carefree when you were younger, you used the word flamboyant, is that a word you would use describe yourself now?”

“No,” he shook his head slowly, unsure what point she’s trying to make. “But I am an adult now, that was when I was younger.”

Poppy had nodded a little and written something down in her notebook. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s, just for a moment, play with the idea that isn’t the truth. What if the reason you stopped to be so carefree and open wasn’t because you grew out of it, but because you were forced to grow into something else? You’re not the first man to try to fit themselves into a box of what other people expect them to be like, in your case – straight. You took a lot of emotional trauma from Harry, we both know that he knows this too. You took the bigger burden out of the two of you, do you understand what that means?”

Louis shook his head, the burning behind his eyes were so intense that he couldn’t hold his tears back any longer.

“It means that you probably sacrificed a lot of yourself and your own sexuality for the benefit of your and Harry’s relationship. That might have resulted in conflicted emotions about your own feelings of what you can have in this world.

“And Harry broke up with you after the band. After offering so much, and stripping yourself down, denying or being denied true, full happiness for so many years, it’s not at all unnatural that you felt lost. You have told me how you were scared of accepting Harry back when you knew you could potentially have him again. Maybe you were just starting to find your own voice and the idea of being shut down by his again was too much.”

“I never… Fuck that,” Louis wiped his eyes and as he had felt frustration and anger building inside of him. “It’s not how it was, I didn’t... I never felt like Harry denied me anything. He wanted me to be myself as well, we fought together.”

“He does want you to be happy,” Poppy agreed, “But being left by the person we’ve offered everything for leaves traces. And it messes with our heads, and it makes us think that we deserve less, or that we should be careful, because one wrong step might mean that we end up without that person again. We both know that Harry won’t leave you, he loves you more than anything else. But this isn’t really about him. This is about how _you_ have been feeling about _your_ sexuality, and how safe you feel in this world.

“Therefore I believe we have a lot of digging to do here, about why you are denying yourself that freedom, and why you think that as long as you keep doing that, you feel safe, and you can still have Harry. Because it seems like you’ve only ever accepted your sexuality when it has been in relation to making Harry happy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Louis had nodded, he wiped his tears and couldn’t really reply, but he nodded.

“You want to love Harry better, right?” Poppy asked softly. Louis nodded again. “Then we have to start with you loving and accepting yourself first.”

After that therapy session, they had been in LA, he had come home and the moment he saw Harry, laying in the sun by their pool reading, just in tight swim trunks and curls still wet, Louis had completely broken down. It had taken Harry a good thirty minutes to calm Louis down enough for him to explain. And by the time Louis managed to recall everything Poppy had said the best he could, voice constantly stumbling over his words, Harry had been crying too, and they had both cried, and talked, and kissed, and cried more, for the rest of the evening.

Because they knew, they knew how big it was for Louis to let down his walls like this. To finally be able to talk and be open about how _he_ felt about _his_ situation. About _his_ sexuality. Not Harry’s. Not their love. Louis’ own feelings. Louis had cried on and off for the rest of the week. He had felt this overwhelming sadness inside of him, so much like all the grief he had experienced. He felt like he was grieving who he once was, grieving his younger self for what he was put through. Louis knew Harry wasn’t going anywhere, he knew it was the two of them from now on. But Poppy was right. He had thought so back in 2012 as well, when it was them against the rest of the world. He had thought nothing could break them and yet here they were. Way too many break ups later.

Louis understands now why it feels so important for him to do his own thing, and to take his time with coming out. Now when the freedom is available to him, he is scared of it, and that’s okay. He knows Harry will wait and fight beside him every step of the road.

_Twelve days later, London_

Louis is in the studio when he hears the front door open. He knew Harry was on his way back from Heathrow, he had texted him an hour ago or so, but his heart still jumps in his chest. He was supposed to come home three days ago, but for a reason Louis can’t really remember he had to make an extra stop in LA.

It’s been a long time since they went twelve days without seeing each other. Probably since sometime when Harry was still touring. Louis has never been alone for more than a week in this house.

He gets up from his chair and opens the door to the studio. He sees Harry immediately, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his thin jacket.

“Hi,” he says and Harry looks up.

“Hey,” he breathes out and Louis doesn’t care that he maybe runs a little bit too fast towards Harry. He flings himself into his arms, wraps his thighs around his hips and Harry doesn’t even stumble, he holds onto Louis just as tight and buries his face in his shoulder. Louis turns his head and presses his nose into the curls. Harry smells a bit weird from the airplane, but he can also trace the scent the apple shampoo that they keep in LA and his usual Tom Ford perfume.

A hand comes up and cups Louis’ neck, gently pulling him back a few inches so they can kiss. When Louis kisses Harry it feels like he can exhale for the first time since he left. Harry lowers Louis down on the ground again but doesn’t let go. His hands cup Louis’ cheeks, tilts his head back so they can kiss deeper. His tongue finds its way into Louis’ mouth and Louis opens up for him, let their tongues meet.

“Fuck I missed you, darling,” Harry whispers against his lips and Louis just pulls him closer. He won’t cry. But shit, he never realises how much he misses Harry until he’s right there with him again.

They eat dinner in bed that evening. Harry makes pasta and Louis pours way too big glasses of wine. Somewhen after they’ve finished and the movie’s still playing, they start making out, a proper make out session that last for an hour, just lazily snogging and rubbing against each other. There’s no rush. No place to be. No time to keep track off. No rushing to the sex like they used to. Ever since they got back together again, what Louis has appreciated the most is that they have time now. Or, they take time. There is no need for them to kiss and snog just to get to the sex, just to make each other come and then move on with something else.

Louis lips feel swollen when they pull apart. He leans back a bit so he can watch Harry’s face, who still has his eyes closed. He’s got a bit of a scruff going on, and after all those years of Harry complaining over getting beard burns from Louis, now it’s payback time. Louis doesn’t mind at all, Harry looks good with a beard, really good actually. Over the years, Harry getting bigger and stronger has probably been Louis’ biggest turn on. The beard has the same effect.

Other than that, he looks just the same. Especially when they are like this, and his hair falls into his forehead. He looks exactly like the boy who accidentally peed on Louis in the X Factor bathroom and rambled away excuses.

Louis traces his finger across Harry’s face, over his eyebrows, following the high of the cheekbones, the bridge of the nose, softly over his swollen lips. He pokes his finger into his cheek and Harry smiles, Louis finger sinks into the dimple. Harry opens one eye and looks at him.

“I’m glad to be back,” Harry mumbles, and Louis shuffles a little closer, even though there is not much space left between them to begin with. He feels a little needy. Not in the way of wanting sex particularly. Just this, a more general need to be close.

Harry’s hand on his hips slides up and presses down at the small of Louis’ lower back and pulls him in.

“I finished a song today,” Louis says and lets his fingers card through Harry’s curls, they are a bit extra curly from his shower earlier.

“Is it the one you’ve refused to let me hear?” Harry asks and rubs his palm over Louis’ back.

Louis nods, “Yeah, I didn’t know if it was going to turn out right. It’s a bit... different.”

“How?” The most important thing Harry always has done when it comes to Louis’ song writing is that he does not press, he encourages.

“It’s about like... the band. And you. Mostly you. And about myself, I guess. But also about the band. Before I knew what it would be called, I named it ‘Ode to the band’. I think it has the most genuine lyrics I’ve written,” Louis rambles.

“Can I hear it?” Harry asks, and he sounds so excited. This is Louis’ favourite way of seeing Harry. Happy, calm, excited. With swollen lips.

“Yeah, I really want you to,” Louis replies and as soon as he has said the words, he realises how true that sentence is. He wants Harry to hear the song. Now. “Actually, can we go down to the studio like now?”

Harry’s smile just grows. And then it turns into a smirk. “Catch me,” before Louis has a chance to reply, Harry has pulled away and pushed himself off the bed. Louis barely recognises what’s happening before Harry’s out of the bedroom and running downstairs. Not even two seconds later he hears a _fuck_ and something that sounds more like stumbling than running.

Louis shakes his head.

Sometimes Harry still acts like he did when he was sixteen and would go to extreme lengths just to make Louis laugh.

He rolls out of bed and walks downstairs. Harry’s in the studio when he steps through the door, he has neatly placed himself in one of the armchairs and looks at Louis with glittering eyes.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” Louis chuckles and walks over to him, leaning down and kissing him. Harry smiles into the kiss but as soon as Louis tries to deepen it, he pushes him away.

“Shh, don’t distract me now, I want to hear the song.”

“I’m not distracting you,” Louis says and leans down again, catching Harry’s lips with his, he presses a finger beneath his chin and tilt his head up a little so he can easily slide his tongue into his mouth. He moves so he can straddle Harry.

“Lou,” Harry warns, but his hands immediately rest on Louis’ waist.

“What?” Louis says and pulls back a little, raising a brow. “Impatient?”

Before Harry has a chance to reply Louis kisses him again. Harry sighs a little but at least he kisses him back, big hands rubbing Louis’ back up and down. It makes all tense muscles in Louis relax a little and he feels himself breathing slower.

“I know why you’re doing this,” Harry says and pulls back, pecking the tip of Louis’ nose.

“No you don’t.”

“You’re nervous.”

“No. I just want to kiss you because you fucked off to the other side of the world for two weeks.”

“Babe, stop. It’s okay, you don’t have to play the song for me,” Harry’s hand come and cup Louis’ neck and gently puts some pressure to it. Louis closes his eyes for a second and breathes deeper, the feelings of chaos in his chest slowly melting away.

The thing is though, Louis really wants to. He really, _really_ wants Harry to hear it. But he’s nervous. Doesn’t really know why he’s more nervous about this one than the rest of his songs, but he is. Maybe because he’s so proud of it, it means so much.

“No, I want to, hold on,” he says and climbs off Harry’s lap. He goes over to the desk where his MacBook lays and opens it up. He makes sure it’s plugged into the system and turns to Harry.

“It’s still missing violins, someone’s going to come in and do them next week. But other than that, it’s almost done,” he selects the file and double clicks it. “Anyway, this is Walls.”

_To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be._

_The people they’re exhausted to be any longer. The people they don’t recognise inside themselves anymore. The people they grew out of, the people they never ended up growing into. We so badly want the people we love to get their spark back when it burns out; to become speedily found when they are lost._

_But it’s not our job to hold anyone accountable to the people they used to be. It’s our job to travel with them between each version and honour what emerges along the way. Sometimes it will be an even more luminescent flame. Sometimes it will be a flicker that disappears and temporarily floods the room with a perfect and necessary darkness._

Heidi Priebe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction has been what kept me sane during this pandemic. I needed to control something when the entire world turned into chaos. So, I wrote this for myself and my own sanity, because I felt like I needed to sort out the Larry timeline, I felt a need to try my best to understand the two of them, my safest people, when I couldn’t understand anything else. I’ve been trying to make sense of my own experiences as a fan - not trying to make sense of their relationship. This is my version of Louis and Harry, we all have our own. We are all here for a reason, because they make us feel a certain way. This fanfiction is what I _feel_ when I listen to their music, and that’s why I wrote it.  
> Because as much as I did this for myself I did it for you, the Larries, our side of this fandom. Louis and Harry love us, I know that in my heart. I hope you do too.
> 
> If you have read this far, please feel free to come to [my tumblr](http://whimperinglou.tumblr.com) and have a chat with me, or drop a comment here. Despite being here for so long, I haven’t really made many close friends. I would love to have some more.  
> If you enjoyed this story, I’d be so happy if you reblogged [the tumblr post.](https://whimperinglou.tumblr.com/post/625544713357918209/all-that-remains-relationship-harry-styleslouis)  
> All the love.


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